Chapter Text
The Queen Susan in Tashbaan,
Chapter 24, Crossroads, Part 3
At this moment there was a loud ring at the bell, and I could hear Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, raising her voice in a wail of expostulation and dismay.
"By heavens, Holmes," I said, half rising, "I believe that they are really after us.""No, it's not quite so bad as that. It is the unofficial force–the Baker Street irregulars. ... They can go everywhere, see everything, overhear everyone. I expect to hear before evening that they have spotted her. In the meanwhile, we can do nothing but await results."
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Sign of Four, Chapter 8
No official title had been given to this cloak-and-dagger outfit, and for that matter no prior War Cabinet approval. It was called BSC by default, after the original Baker Street address of the Special Operations Executive (SOE) in London, but the initiated preferred to think of it as a reference to Sherlock Holmes's Baker Street Irregulars.
J. Conant, The Irregulars: Roald Dahl and the British Spy Ring in Wartime Washington
"Come now, Peter. It is never just a train ride. Surely you've set out before but ended up somewhere you didn't expect, taken the road less traveled, or fallen down the Rabbit Hole?"
The Stone Gryphon, Part 1, Oxfordshire 1942, Chapter 15
They had come to the Bali Club straight from the office and would be leaving early. Susan wanted to murder Tebbitt. And kiss him. And do a great deal more to him in the Club's maintenance closet.
It was very aggravating. She was leaving in the morning and it seemed perfectly sensible to locate a comfortable, private, horizontal surface with Tebbitt and test some limits. She wished to begin basic instruction in how to do this all in a proper, Narnian way, because goodness, the skill and enthusiasm were there, but there was an exquisite languid appreciation of the whole experience that seemed utterly lacking. Instead, she was being teased and Susan did not like it one bit. Teasing had its place, of course. It was a very, very strange situation for the adult Queen she had been and for how Mrs. Caspian had been managing their relationship all summer. The tables had turned, Tebbitt had the upper hand, was promising and not delivering, and murmuring all the while, Wait until the War ends.
Yes, turnabout was fair play and Tebbitt was gleefully exacting penance. He knew exactly how to most thoroughly aggravate her without compromising either of them and it was driving her spare and there was nothing she could do about it! When the War ended, Tebbitt would find out just how patient she could be when she tested his patience to the snapping point.
Tebbitt had joined the band for a riff. Susan made the rounds, handing out her cards, saying good bye to Guy's friends and family, to Sadie, Earl, Ludie, Charlie, and all the others. There was no pig part consumed – thank Aslan – just sipping Bourbon from chipped glasses, chatting with kind, brilliant people, and listening to music in a place that when she shut her eyes, it could be Narnia – the smells, sounds, and sights were different, but the feel of it was closer to Narnia than anything else like she had experienced on this side of the Wardrobe.
Agnes was holding court at her table, surrounded by her protective bubble that kept unwanted advances away. However, the impenetrability was illusory and that was why Guy would always have been hanging back to glower threateningly at anyone who approached Agnes. Being so suddenly reminded of this gaping hole his stalwart presence had filled was painful. Susan forced her thoughts outward, to Guy, his good fellowship with Lambert, and her other Narnian friends. Do not let my grief keep you from your journey home.
It was so hard, sometimes, to not be selfish or churlish when there were greater purposes at work and she wished again for Peter. None of them feared death – how could they? But, Peter had always been closest to death, and so he understood it best.
With a welcoming smile, and no handshake or embrace, Susan sat at the table across from Agnes. The Tarot deck was on the table. Papa Legba, the rat, was scampering about so Susan scooped her up and nuzzled her nose.
"Has there been any word on David Lowrey?" Agnes asked, her delicate face knit with worry.
"No, not as of an hour ago. Reports are still coming in. If we do not hear by tomorrow, I probably will not learn anything until I return to England. If you ask, I'm sure the Colonel or Tebbitt will tell you when they learn anything."
Susan hated to be leaving and she especially hated leaving and not knowing of Lowrey's fate. Once they boarded the ship, she would not have any news until they arrived in Liverpool and she could find casualty reports. She might be writing letters of sympathy to Gladys and Lowrey's family. If he was wounded, maybe she could finesse a trip to Suffolk where most of the casualties were being taken. It was all so dreadfully uncertain.
"Are you ready to leave?" Agnes asked.
"In the preparatory sense, yes. I do not want to leave the Colonel so short handed and with Gladys so upset, he and Tebbitt will have to manage alone."
Agnes' hands moved restlessly over her cards. "George and Reginald managed before you arrived, Susan. They will manage, though not as well, after you leave."
It might have been offensive, but it was not. Agnes simply spoke truth. The War did not stop, and so neither did they, and good enough to get the job done had to be enough when it was all that could be spared.
Legba began nibbling on her fingertips, her whiskers gently tickling. Susan finally asked the questions she had wondered of.
"Did you know, Agnes? About Guy? Did you know what was going to happen?"
For all the anxiety of deciding whether to ask the question, the response was anti-climactic. "I do not read family members for a reason, Susan," Agnes said simply, answering not at all and signaling the end of the discussion.
Nor was there any point in asking her of Lowrey's fate – it seemed she did not know for Agnes was fretting as they all were.
Susan had never decided what she thought of Agnes' abilities. Guy and most of her family had attributed Agnes' uncanny insights to the saints, God, or gods – the theories varied. The Colonel thought Agnes a naturally gifted, astute psychologist.
Agnes reminded Susan of the Calormen mystics and the Centaur astrologers, though she had never been sure if they were philosophers, scientists, or, in the case of the Calormenes, frauds. Perhaps the herbs the Centaurs consumed and inhaled really did lift the shrouds between the worlds as they asserted. The herbs they had given Peter during the rituals bonding the High King to Narnia had made him very odd and ill for days. But were those visions Peter had seen truly prophetic or merely the product of fevered imagination?
Having been in the presence of the Lion, Susan was loath to name anything impossible.
Agnes' eyes wandered to the stage area where Tebbitt was banging on the drums with the rest of Charlie's group. "It seems that the blindfold has been removed from Reginald's eyes and he sees you more clearly." As she spoke the seemingly ambiguous words, Agnes removed the Two of Swords from her Tarot deck on the table.
The Two of Swords was an image of a woman, blindfolded, holding a sword in each hand, arms crossed over her chest.
"The sword was never my weapon," Susan told her. She had become accustomed to Agnes' elliptical way of speaking in which she used the Tarot as illustrations for her words.
"The Two of Swords signals a stalemate, a closed heart, an inability to see the reality in front of you," Agnes said. "I am relieved though that with the blindfold of the Two of Swords apparently removed, the tension of the standoff might be relieved. Greater understanding is possible, but not assured."
Susan recalled the cards she had heard Agnes read for Tebbitt over the summer. She had shown him the Five of Wands and warned him of difficult choices. In the frequently appearing Five of Swords she had cautioned of futility, of a gain not worth the cost, and impending failure. She realized that Agnes had seen the risk from the very beginning. "You have been trying to warn him, haven't you?"
"Tebbitt falls in love the way other men change socks." From the stack of cards, she slid out and set next to the Two of Swords other cards Agnes associated with Tebbitt – the searching Fool, the energetic, passionate Lovers, and the dreamy Page of Cups. "I do wish he were drawn to those with fewer secrets and a more open heart, or at least that he would listen for more than what he wishes to hear."
Abashed, Susan gently deposited Legba back on the table for the rat was nibbling a little too aggressively on her wrist.
Agnes swept the cards away with a dissatisfied grumble of her own. "I am sorry, Susan, it is unkind of me to speak so and the night before your journey home. I am too blunt sometimes."
She stroked Legba behind the ear. Susan could not be angry at Agnes for what, while uncomfortable, was also true.
"It is not the first time I have heard such things," Susan admitted, thinking of her long talks with Aslan, Peter, and Lambert. Suitors had said similar things, as had Rabadash who, for all his horrid failings, had been a very astute judge of character. "I shall miss your insights, however you express them, and your friendship, Agnes."
"I feel the same way," Agnes said smiling. And before Susan could utter the protest, Agnes began rearranging her cards in the deck. "So let me look at something happier for you!"
"No Three of Swords," Susan warned. After seeing the awful image of the heart pierced by the three swords, Susan had not sat for any of Agnes' impromptu readings. Knowing that the images of the Tarot were a significant part of how Agnes communicated with others, she would listen as Agnes deliberately pulled out individual cards and shared what thoughts they prompted. However, Susan never wanted to chance seeing the awful symbology of the Three of Swords ever again.
"Of course not, Susan," Agnes replied gently and as firmly. She set out the contemplative Six of Swords, the man pushing off in his boat. Susan had seen this card before for Agnes had used it to explain Susan's own journey that summer in Washington.
"So here is my journey by sea back to England," Susan said, stating the obvious.
"And a triumphant one," Agnes agreed, setting down the glorious Six of Wands. The image was of a laurel-crowned victor riding a spirited white horse. The horse reminded Susan of her own devoted Narnian dumb mare. To Susan, she had always been a Love; everyone else had always referred to the ill-tempered mare as the Hell Bitch.
Agnes gestured over the cards that told the story. "And so, Susan you journey from a task completed for which you have received the honour and recognition you deserve."
Next to the Six of Swords and the Six of Wands, she set another card they had seen before, the Three of Wands. The Three of Wands showed a man on a cliff, framed between three supporting staves, looking out to the sea. "And here is your journey to come." Susan always felt a hopeful promise in the card and saw herself on the cliff, with her brothers and sister beside her, embarking upon a new adventure.
Agnes paused, biting her lip in indecision.
"No," Susan injected, anticipating her. Agnes would get carried away and Susan wanted no more rude surprises like the Three of Swords.
With a little sigh, Agnes sighed, resigned. "Very well. Though there is something I wish to revisit with you, Susan. If you will permit me?"
Susan nodded, for she could guess what Agnes wanted to read.
Next to the cards of tasks, triumph and journey, Agnes put down two other familiar cards, the Hierophant and the Chariot. The Hierophant, Agnes had explained, was a man of experience and divinity, an interpreter of secret knowledge. The Chariot, with its image of the yoked black and white Sphinxes, was about mastery, confidence, will and hard won control over competing interests.
"This Hierophant has his own, very complex journey," Agnes said, finally speaking her musings aloud. "He is an established, stable person, who, with the Chariot, somehow follows two masters. He has shackled light and dark both in pursuit of the path he wishes to go."
Agnes' hands traced lovingly over the images on the cards. "When you meet him, Susan, you must promise to write and tell me of him."
"You seem very certain that I shall, Agnes," Susan said.
"Oh, I am," Agnes insisted with something akin to fervency.
"And how will I know this person when I meet him? I cannot very well ask a stranger if he is a man of the spirit who has harnessed good and evil to his will."
Agnes clucked disapprovingly. "Your Hierophant will appear when you need him, Susan. He is so unique, he will be unmistakable. You will write me about him?" She was near pleading in her eagerness.
"Of course," Susan assured her.
Susan did not understand the source of Agnes' conviction and certainty. This might be simply another of Agnes' whimsical fancies, such as her insistence that Jo should have married Laurie in Little Women and that Heathcliff's obsession with Catherine was romantic. Aslan had guided her all summer and this could be the Lion urging alertness for a guide on a path to come, much as the Colonel had been in the Emperor card Agnes had first drawn the day they met. And so, Susan listened and would not spurn what came her way. If she had been more open to Aslan's voice, she might have seen the mole sooner.
The band ended the set with a flourish so they both applauded. Legba, startled by the noise, scurried about, scattering the cards, so Susan picked her up again. Agnes collected her cards, wrapped them carefully in a white cloth and set them in her bag.
"Oh!" Agnes exclaimed as she sorted through her things. "I am the fool. I have something for you, Susan."
Susan was deeply touched. The wealth of Agnes and her family was not measured in money. "Agnes, you should not have done so. The gift of your friendship and that of your family has been more than enough."
"Guy would have wanted you to have it."
From her bag Agnes withdrew a small object and set it on the table. Susan picked it up and saw that it was a wooden carving of a dog, with an intricate design inked on one side. It was rough and lovingly done.
"What is it?" Susan asked, turning the sculpture over in her hands.
"Guy carved it. The design is the veve of Papa Legba, his symbol." Agnes reached out and plucked the rat from her hands for she was trying to gnaw on the wooden statue. "George could tell you more of the many guises Papa Legba takes. We know Papa Legba as the loa who is the guardian of the crossroads and doorways. He is a master of languages, a warrior who relies upon tricks, and has the power to remove obstacles. The dog is Papa Legba's special animal, his totem. He is a good guide for you on your journey."
"Indeed he is," Susan said, misty eyed and with her throat constricting.
"Your Wolf friend, the resting Knight, is not a dog, of course, but Guy thought it would be close enough."
Susan ran her fingers over the sculpture. It was unfinished, as she herself was – a work in progress with guides along the way. "Thank you, Agnes." And thank you, Friends, she whispered silently to Guy and Lambert.
Tebbitt sauntered up. "I'm afraid I must relieve you of your companion, Agnes. It is almost Mrs. Caspian's bedtime. She needs to be back at her hotel before her eleven o'clock curfew." He put a hand casually on her back, his fingers gently stroking where neck and shoulder met. He was such a tease.
"It's not even ten o'clock!" Susan snapped as Agnes laughed.
"We need to give ourselves enough time," Tebbitt replied.
Susan tried, half-heartedly, to dislodge his hand with a shrug. "Time for what?" Really, this was so humiliating. Tebbitt would rue the day he ever tried these games, when the day came.
Tebbitt offered his arm as if he had just proposed an evening of dining and dancing at the finest supper club.
"Mrs. Caspian, if you will permit me, before seeing you safely delivered to your waiting mother's door, I believe an upgrade in environs from the Embassy coat closet to the Mayflower Hotel's service lift is warranted."
Susan sorted through the morning cables, dispatches, newspaper and memos. It had been her office routine all summer since that first day when she had come in to find Guy hopelessly buried under paper, phones ringing, telex banging and the place absolute bedlam. Susan spared another pang of longing for her soon to be desecrated filing system. She had explained it to both Gladys and Tebbitt, but Gladys did not have the time and Tebbitt did not have the inclination.
Tebbitt was running their errands that morning while Gladys answered the phones through sniffs and tears.
It had been an appallingly early evening. The service lift had not represented an improvement in the milieu at all. There had been the dust bins (smelly), the room service carts and soiled linens (foul), and the alarm they may have been responsible for setting off accidentally (loud and embarrassing). At that point, it was time to take the hint and Tebbitt dutifully delivered her back to her mother. Susan was not certain how much longer she would be able to refrain from using her fake identity if this sort of business persisted. She wondered what sort of person Jane Louise Ellis was like and was looking forward to getting to know her.
With the incoming messages and papers reviewed, sorted, and prioritized, it would be the last time she performed these clerical duties for the Colonel. Within a few hours, she and her mother would be on their way to New York, meet father, and continue on to Halifax and then board the ship bound for England.
She knocked on the Colonel's door.
"Come in!" he barked. He was looking through the latest casualty reports from Dieppe.
"I have the morning mail and papers."
"Thank you," he muttered and waved in the direction of his in-box. "Is there anything I should look at right away?" The Colonel scowled and with a disgusted shake of his head shoved the report into his burn bag.
"Sir?"
"I'm irritated, Mrs. Caspian. Not at you. Just irritated."
Susan let it pass. "As to the important information, there are two things. First, this came in for you via the New York courier. Your Eyes Only."
Messages so designated were unusual, but not unduly so. The Colonel took the envelope from her with a raised eyebrow and opened it. Through the thin paper she could see that the memo it contained was short.
The Colonel quickly reviewed it and from his expression he seemed intrigued, not alarmed. Which meant…
"Sir, is it about Colonel McFarland meeting Edmund?"
He glanced up. "Very perceptive, Mrs. Caspian. It is indeed, of a sort. Colonel McFarland reports that he did not actually undertake the meeting but sent someone else who he felt was better suited to handle the matter gently and discreetly – his words, by the way. Interesting."
"And why is that, Sir?"
"The man he sent is not actually in the SOE, though I've certainly heard of him. Major al-Masri is a bit of a legend, really."
"al-Masri?" she repeated. It certainly did not sound familiar, or even English.
"Major al-Masri is Egyptian, or well, he would be referred to as Egyptian now, I suppose. I do not actually know his tribal affiliation or with whom he self-identified before the Europeans went in and carved up North Africa and Arabia to suit our desire for neat, square borders."
Colonel Walker-Smythe studied the message again then held it for her to read. It was maddeningly brief – the contact had been made, Edmund Pevensie understood the need for discretion, he received the message calmly, and he had not been alarmed or threatened. The memo concluded that Edmund Pevensie was "a loyal English schoolboy" – Susan managed to not snicker as she read this sentence. She wondered if Major al-Masri was dim, fooled, or astute and lying for reasons of his own, and how clever Edmund had been in playing the role of the innocent child. She hoped Edmund had not been unduly worried for her safety, but there was nothing to be done of that – Lucy would have helped him through it.
She handed the memo back to the Colonel and it joined the other paper in his burn bag.
"So that, Mrs. Caspian, is one dangling bit of unfinished business that need not vex you on the journey back to Liverpool." He shoved his cigar back in his mouth. "You said two items of importance?"
"Yes, Sir. One of the papers is reporting a rumor of the Nazis being forewarned of the Dieppe Raid. One of the Canadians is quoted as saying, 'it's as if the Nazis knew we were coming.'"
She handed him the Toronto Star article and set the other documents in his box. The Colonel quickly skimmed the paper, focusing immediately on the sections she had circled.
Susan waited until he finished reading and began chewing again on his cigar.
"Sir?" she began, voicing her rising doubt. "We did tell the War Cabinet that the operation might have been compromised by the mole, didn't we?"
"Yes, they knew about Ribin. They also have had a couple thousand men drilling in Southern England for months. Command had to abort Operation Rutter in July because of a Nazi attack on the flotilla. There are dozens of ways they might have been tipped to the Raid and all are more likely than our spy." He set the newspaper down. "Was the report picked up by any of the other papers yet?"
"A nearly identical story is in The Globe and Mail, Sir."
He sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes. "While I continue to believe Ribin was not hired by the Nazis, we will not be finding that out directly from him. He was found hanged in his cell early this morning."
Susan sat down heavily on the divan, disturbed and disappointed more than shocked. "His guard found him?"
"Yes, at the shift change."
"Are they certain it was suicide?" It was the first question to ask. Certain people were not safe loose, but they might not be safe in a dungeon either. They had learned that the painful way in Narnia.
"No," the Colonel said simply. "I am taking the train up to Ottawa tomorrow to look in on the situation and speak to the Coroner. And speaking of Ribin…" He paused.
"Yes, Sir? What about him?"
"Not Ribin himself, but what he did. Mrs. Caspian, I hesitated to say anything before, but I did want to try to dissuade you from thinking you bear any responsibility for Guy Hill's death."
Susan stared down at her tightly clasping hands.
"As extraordinarily talented as you are and regardless of what Agnes might say, I believe there are limits to foreknowledge. I am very impressed that you became suspicious at all and am becoming irritated at your insistence upon taking responsibility for things that are completely beyond your ken."
The Colonel was speaking, but Susan was hearing Aslan and Peter.
She looked up and with deep breath, nodded. "I understand, Sir. I am trying to put it in proper perspective."
He stared at her for what felt was hours but was really only a few moments. Finally, he nodded. "Very well, Mrs. Caspian. But, this must not persist. You are compromising your effectiveness and doing so utterly without reason. It is not what I expect from you. Am I clear?"
Susan straightened in her seat, pretending more confidence than she felt and letting irritation of her own sneak into her voice. "I understand, Sir. Thank you." His implication of her implied weakness could be solely a challenge to motivate her to move on. Regardless, she could not reveal the true reasons for her sense of failure in not preventing Guy's death for they were rooted in Narnia.
"And speaking of proper perspectives …"
He reached down to his desk drawer, opened it and removed the passport and identity card for Miss Susan Pevensie, Finchley, London. "You will be needing these."
Susan took the dreaded papers, not wanting them, and knowing she had to take them. It was inevitable. The Colonel's look of sympathetic understanding made it worse and she felt tears of frustration springing into her eyes. She looked down quickly at the traitorous passport.
"I am not going to ask for you to return the Caspian papers," he said quietly and speaking aloud her secret fear.
Relief and gratitude flooded her and she was able to look up again, clear eyed. "Thank you."
He continued, "While I do not think Mrs. Caspian covers the full of it, she is a good working cover for you and shoes of that quality are hard to come by, even in England." He paused and his tone became rough and harsh. "However, I do not want you using that identity for another year or two. If I have a hint of it, I'll have it confiscated."
"I understand, Sir," Susan murmured, feeling very rebellious.
The Colonel's mien softened. "Do not be so downcast, Mrs. Caspian. I simply don't want you using those papers to go where you aren't ready and I expect you to make good use of the time until you are ready."
Indignation blazed up. It was the passport that was the lie, not the person she was. "I'm ready now, Sir," Susan retorted.
"No, I don't think you are," the Colonel responded firmly. "I want you to do what my own daughter would be doing. Learn more French. Kiss some boys your own age."
To her chagrin, Susan felt a slight blush creep across her face. The Colonel missed nothing.
"Sir, I…"
He stopped her stammering explanation with a slice of the hand. "I trusted you, Mrs. Caspian, to keep the matter well in hand, and, for the most part, you did. To the extent I could spare it, I kept an eye on the situation and Hill was reporting to me. If I had any inkling that you were in any compromising situation, I would have pulled you out and sent you packing, for all our sakes. So thank you for not disappointing my instincts."
Susan almost protested at the audacity of being spied upon. Her judgment caught up a moment later. Of course the Colonel had been watching and the latitude she had been afforded in the office had increased over the summer as she had earned his trust and proven her worth.
"You were right, Sir, about living the cover. The cover made it much easier to play the role and maintain the boundaries." She did not mention which boundaries and with whom. He knew she was speaking of her handling of Tebbitt.
"Yes, though by my judge you knew exactly what you were doing in managing and manipulating him. In saying this, understand that I mean no criticism."
He was harsh, but honest. His frank recognition of her maturity also underscored the fundamental unfairness of waiting. "Sir, I don't want to sit this out. The War will be over by the time I'm old enough for it."
He frowned and shook his head. "Think it through, Mrs. Caspian. Your analysis is faulty." The Colonel swiveled in his chair and pointed to the map of North Africa on his wall. "You know what General Eisenhower is planning. Those tanks on the SS Seatrain, assuming they make it, won't arrive in the Suez until September. Monty is going to want to train. The plan is to retake Africa first. It will be a joint amphibious force, multiple landings, probably 100,000 men or more. An operation of that size won't occur until the end of 1942 into early '43."
"Secure North Africa and the Mediterranean, then move north into the soft underbelly of Southern Europe," Susan continued, looking at the map and thinking of the briefings they had been attending.
The Colonel nodded. "I think we will be fighting in Italy by the summer of '43." He spun back around his chair. "Even optimistically, the Allies won't be back in Western Europe for two years. Dieppe will finally silence once and for all those open-the-second-front-in-Europe fools who don't remember Dunkirk and who thought we could just land in France and march straight to Berlin. When we go back, and by my judge, it won't be until 1944, we'll do it right. God, I hope so, because I'd not want to see all those good men dead for nothing."
Picking up the newspaper, he thrust it in her direction, nearly croaking and sounding so like Sallowpad it was disorienting. "Two years, Mrs. Caspian. France. If you need one, that's your goal."
She would be almost through school by then. For the most part. Enough. This was what Miss Carré had meant about Susan seeing France before her teacher would. "Perhaps learning some German in the meantime would be useful as well."
"Very much so." The Colonel flipped the paper into his in-box. "Though I hesitate to mention it, you should know that Intrepid asked about you staying, Mrs. Caspian. He wanted to send you to Camp X to get some training and see what more you might do."
Hope sprang up, beaten back a moment later by reality. Her parents would never have permitted it. "I would have liked that, Sir. Very much."
"I know. You are a valued part of the team here and I am sorry to see you leave. But, we need to keep the eye on the goal and for you I think that is 1944 and France." From a folder on his desk, Colonel Walker-Smythe withdrew a piece of paper. He had had it ready for this farewell, Susan realized. "When the time comes, this is the person you will want to see."
Susan read the slip with his neat, English schoolboy print. "Vera Atkins?"
"Yes. Look her up when you get back. She is in the SOE, French Section, reporting to Colonel Buckmaster. Tell her you are interested in what she does. I'll drop a word with her and Buckmaster as well. I think you may need first to join the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry or the Women's Auxiliary Air Force, first, but discuss it with her. Camp X is not the only place the SOE trains."
"64 Baker Street?" she asked reading the address on the card he had given and smiling at the irony. "Not 221B?"
"The SOE moved into that building in 1940. Hoover calls us the British Security Coordination but BSC really stands for the Baker Street Co-ordination. Welcome to the Irregulars, Mrs. Caspian."
He stood and held out his hand. Susan rose as well and gravely they shook. She wanted to stay but now leaving was bearable for the path was becoming clearer and it was leading back to England and France, not America. Thank you, Aslan.
"Thank you, Sir, for everything."
"And thank you. It has been a privilege for me as well. I want you to know that if this ends and if we win, and perhaps I will eventually be assigned to London, maybe at Baker Street at the SOE. Who knows? I'll find you, Mrs. Caspian. If you are still interested there will always be a place for you on my staff."
They were going to have to get another driver, the Colonel realized. His Lordship, Ambassador Halifax, was only going to tolerate the use of his car and driver until the moment his executive secretary boarded her train for New York. The driver had all of his Lordship's condescension and even more self-important arrogance. He had been impudently impatient as Mrs. Caspian had made her last good byes at the Embassy to Gladys, the Guards, and the other staff. The driver could not be rid of them fast enough. He shoved them out at the entrance to Union Station and roared off before the luggage had even hit the pavement.
Tebbitt and Mrs. Caspian were unusually distracted. He took command of the ladies' suitcase himself and escorted Mrs. Pevensie under the triumphal arch into the great, vaulted foyer and waiting area of Union Station.
Their train was not yet in the station but due shortly.
"Thank you, Colonel," Mrs. Pevensie said, checking her tickets and tucking them into her handbag. "We could have managed ourselves and with all that is occurring I feel badly taking you and the Wing Commander from the office."
"I am glad to do so, Mrs. Pevensie. Tebbitt wished to come as well."
"I have no doubt of that and Susan probably insisted upon his attendance."
He managed not to guffaw at this extremely perceptive observation. Tebbitt and Mrs. Caspian had tarried at the entrance and not yet joined them. He imagined that they wished to make their farewell a little more private – as private as such things could be in grand foyer of the American Capitol's Beaux Arts railway station.
Mrs. Pevensie looked about and her mouth quirked up in a smile. "Colonel, might I suggest that we both carefully turn our backs?" She nudged his elbow slightly, pushing him a little to the side. "In this way, we can we can pretend we do not see Wing Commander Tebbitt and my daughter kissing madly behind that pillar."
"Of course, Mrs. Pevensie." Her astuteness startled him. He was not surprised, for he had been observing Mrs. Caspian and Tebbitt together for weeks. That Mrs. Pevensie was cognizant of the situation and seemingly unperturbed by her adolescent daughter kissing a man more than ten years her senior was causing a sudden reassessment. He found himself peculiarly unprepared to address a woman who was not as unaware as he had assumed.
"You seem surprised at my knowledge, Colonel."
"I admit, I am, ma'am. I was just considering what else you might have noticed this summer and turned a blind eye to."
"Well, with my gaze deliberately averted, I do want to thank you, Colonel, for keeping an eye on Susan. I was told I could trust your judgment and you did not disappoint me."
For a disorienting moment, the conversation he had had with Mrs. Caspian only a few hours earlier was replaying.
"You are welcome, Mrs. Pevensie, though your daughter was in need of no oversight. Nevertheless I did, with Mr. Hill, monitor the situation. I am curious. Who told you I was so trustworthy?"
Her smug smile was very like that of Mrs. Caspian. The mother had been keeping her own counsel as her daughter had kept hers.
"You cannot guess?"
"No."
She radiated satisfied accomplishment. "I was in New York, visiting my husband, the morning Mr. Hill arrived with news of that fantastic and daring caper involving the theft of Vice President Wallace's incendiary pamphlet right from his briefcase."
It took a tremendous control to not reveal his disgust in failing to anticipate this. Where was his script? It was very humbling to be reminded so forcefully by the mother of the same lessons he had been drilling into the daughter.
She continued, obviously enjoying his discomfiture. "The New York office was in an uproar and everyone was asking to hear the tale from Mr. Hill of the daring Wing Commander Tebbitt and the quick thinking of his handler, Mrs. Caspian."
He recalled what she had said the night of Hill's death. "And Caspian was one of those mysterious, unknown names you had heard before from your children?"
"Very good, Colonel." Her eyes flitted casually toward a shop front window in which one could see reflections of kissing activity otherwise obscured by the train station's marble columns. "I discussed my concerns with Mr. Stephenson and with Mr. Hill who, to the credit of both, were forthcoming. Mr. Stephenson appealed to my patriotic duty, but it was Mr. Hill who allayed a mother's worries."
"Was Hill reporting to you as well?"
"He assured me that there was no need due to what I had already suspected – that even apart from your oversight, for which I am grateful, my daughter was well able to handle a randy RAF pilot and any other challenge of official Washington."
"Your daughter is a singular young woman," he replied.
"Not so young, I think," Mrs. Pevensie said. "Or, perhaps better stated, not as innocent as one would expect of a young girl." She looked down and picked at the finger of her glove.
He waited, knowing she would fill the silence if given the opportunity. Hers was a perspective that had been wholly lacking in his analysis.
"It makes no sense, Colonel," she said quietly. "Before my children were evacuated, there were the boys who wanted to write to Susan or carry her books. I had thought this would follow a logical progression with letters and introductions and dances, the usual things a mother would expect for her pretty daughter."
"And instead?" he asked, burning with curiosity.
She raised her head and snorted gently. "Colonel, surely you see Susan's worldliness as well? It is how she managed to make herself indispensable to your office."
"I have noted it," he admitted.
"I have found nothing that could account for her sophistication and I have searched, even though it meant looking for a mother's' worst fears."
"Ma'am, surely the War accounts for this?" He did not believe it, but this was the parent in him speaking to another parent of the worries they all shared.
"No, Colonel, it does not. Not directly, though it certainly began during their evacuation from the Blitz." She looked up at the overhead clock. "We will need to find a way to interrupt them in a moment if they have truly lost track of the time."
"The evacuations were very hard on children and families," he said, recalling the stories he had heard from other military men.
"I used that excuse as well, Colonel, until I objectively compared other children to my own." She shook her head and he saw that these were old questions, often rehearsed, and now being trotted out to a new audience. "They were evacuated to the home of Digory Kirke, who is a colleague of my husband's old tutor. Have you heard of Professor Kirke?"
"He is an authority on the Oxford Franciscans?" He recalled seeing papers with Kirke's name discussing the works of Ockham and the scientific method.
"Yes. Brilliant man, very kind, and thoroughly eccentric. Peter has been with him this summer." She shifted her handbag on her arm and glanced again at the board displaying train schedules. "After my children's return from his home, I spent a long day discussing their profound changes with Professor Kirke and his colleague, Miss Polly Plummer. She works in animal conservation for the Zoological Society of London."
He stored the information away for later reflection. Mrs. Pevensie lapsed into a thoughtful silence.
"And?" he finally prompted.
She shook her head, brow creasing with mild, frustrated annoyance. "Nothing useful. They were, frankly, as vague as spies."
He laughed a little at the irony and she nodded her agreement. "Indeed."
His interest was piqued. "I would be interested in hearing more of what you learned, however vague."
"Of course, Colonel. I shall write you of the particulars."
"Please." What was especially fascinating was the revelation that whatever had so altered Susan Pevensie and her siblings had happened to them all at the same time, at apparently the same place.
"If you wish to understand my daughter, I believe the answer begins there." Mrs. Pevensie leaned forward and rested a hand on his arm. "I tell you all this, Colonel, because, should you someday be able to investigate the source of Susan's remarkable skills, would you share your conclusions with me? As a mother, it is very hard to be so ignorant of what has made my children the adults that they are."
He hesitated a long moment before finally responding as simply as he was able, "Of course." He was not sure if he would be able to do so, or could. Spies were skilled manipulators of truth.
They both looked up as the overhead board showing incoming trains fluttered and flipped. A garbled announcement confirmed that the Congressional Limited Express, bound for Penn Station, was arriving at track 2.
Saving them the embarrassment of an intervention, Tebbitt and Mrs. Caspian sauntered out from behind their concealing pillar. Mrs. Pevensie smirked and quickly looked away, schooling her expression into one of total guilelessness. Mother and daughter both were skilled at pretense. Tebbitt was hurriedly wiping his face clean of what was certainly Mrs. Caspian's lipstick.
Mrs. Pevensie put out her hand. "Colonel Walker-Smythe, thank you. I hope we see each other again."
"And I as well, Ma'am. You should be very proud of your daughter."
Mrs. Pevensie's parting handshake with Tebbitt was equally warm. Tebbitt handled it with aplomb for all that he had been madly kissing the woman's daughter in a public train station but a few feet away. Mrs. Caspian seemed utterly unperturbed, though her color was pinker than usual. That was something they would have to work on, eventually.
His own good bye to Mrs. Caspian was perfunctory – what had needed to be said had already been communicated.
"Thank you, Colonel."
"It's been a pleasure, Miss Pevensie."
There was no hugging.
Tebbitt gave their suitcase and valise to the porter and handed the mother and then daughter up on to the train. If the pilot's hand lingered a moment longer on Mrs. Caspian, the Colonel did not see it.
Together, he and Tebbitt stepped away from the train. There was a crackle of an unintelligible announcement that might have been Congressional Limited leaving on track 2 but could have easily been Crocodiles loose in the tea room.
Through the train car window he saw Mrs. Caspian take a seat and wave a gloved hand. Tebbitt raised his hand in an enthusiastic returning wave (no blown kisses, thank goodness, they were British).
The train pulled away.
Waving the train good bye, Tebbitt suddenly broke in over the din of the station, "Sir, when did you realize that Mrs. Caspian is no school girl?"
So, Tebbitt had learned some version of the truth. He wondered how long it had taken the pilot to ask the question.
"Susan Pevensie's passport says she is fifteen."
"That's what Shoemakers are for – to forge passports and birth records."
He was not going to argue the point; he knew what her birth record said and he could not reconcile it any more than Tebbitt could.
"I can't explain it, Tebbitt."
"Yet, her mother says she's fifteen," Tebbitt said, still waving at the fading train.
"Speaking as one and to one, let us remind ourselves that spies are notoriously unreliable as narrators."
Tebbitt's hand fell to his side with a bemused sigh. "Yes, I had been wondering if deception runs in the family. That has been my latest theory. Or, part of it, anyway."
He was not going to mention his burgeoning suspicions that indeed Rat and Crow was a hereditary trait in the Pevensies and that he hoped to confirm it in the next year when Peter Pevensie turned seventeen. He had a burning interest in pursuing an interview with Major al-Masri about Edmund Pevensie and wished for a long tea with Professor Kirke and Miss Plummer. Perhaps he could arrange a trip back to England in the next year.
"It is the cocktail hour somewhere in the world, Tebbitt. I suggest we mark it by toasting Mrs. Caspian's embarkation on her next adventure."
Tebbitt nodded, still staring off down the track on which the train had disappeared. "I should like to hear the truth of Mrs. Caspian's adventures some day."
"As would I."
Here ends Part 2 of The Stone Gryphon, The Queen Susan in Tashbaan
And so, Part 2 ends as Part 1 did, with an elder Pevensie on a train, embarking upon the Next Adventure. To quote the Gryphon from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, "No, no! The adventures first … explanations take such a dreadful time."
I have begun The Stone Gryphon, Part 3, Apostolic Way, at http://www.fanfiction.net/u/1873140/
If you are the sort who waits until it is all over, I do hope to hear from you. Thank you for taking this journey with me.