Velvet Undercover (11 page)

“Good morning,” she says. “I trust you slept well.”

“I did, thank you.”

“I'll show you the servants' dining hall, but we'll take
our breakfast to the schoolroom. We should go over the lessons I've planned for the children before they arrive.”

After collecting a small breakfast of porridge and sausage, we carry our food back to the schoolroom on trays. I eat hungrily, realizing that I missed dinner the night before.

Lillian is all teacher this morning, in her plain skirt and cherry-red sweater. Her voice is quiet and studious as she explains the routine to me.

“It's not difficult. You'll be teaching the three younger students while I work with the older ones. We'll break at ten to take the children out to the courtyard for some air. Their mother usually joins them there.”

A servant comes by to take our trays, giving us a saucy glare. Lillian ignores her until she leaves the room.

“This is another reason why I am glad you arrived. Like the lady's maids, the governess has few friends. It'll be nice to have someone to talk to.”

Her voice is wistful but I have no time to comment as our charges file in, each of them casting suspicious looks my way.

Prince Wilhelm has dark hair and his father's blue eyes. His mouth is pinched and his eyes narrow as if, at the tender age of nine, he's already sure that his portion is going to be too small, which is odd because I'm fairly certain his portions have never been too small. His younger brother Prince Louis has similar coloring, but his mouth is softer and I see a bit of mischief in his blue eyes. Mary Elizabeth and Victoria are dressed alike in stiff lace dresses. Both have straight
yellow hair, pulled back with giant pink bows; round, dimpled chins; and even rounder blue eyes. Gretel has soft brown hair and chubby cheeks and looks barely old enough to be out of the nursery.

Prince Hubertus looks like his father and stands fiercely tall, glancing to his brothers for approval.

I'm never going to be able to tell them apart.

I take Mary Elizabeth, Prince Hubertus, and little Gretel to one corner of the room while Lillian takes the others to a table under the window.

“I am big enough to be with my brothers,” Prince Hubertus says, his bottom lip sticking out.

“Me too!” little Gretel says.

Mary Elizabeth says nothing.

“I'm too big for letters,” Prince Hubertus says.

“Me too!” echoes Gretel.

Mary Elizabeth says nothing.

“Why don't I test you on your letters and numbers today, and then, depending on the outcome, I'll talk to Miss Bouchard this afternoon about your progress.”

“I want to be with my brothers now.”

I smile through clenched teeth. “If you weren't old enough to be with your brothers, you would still be in the nursery, right? But you're in the schoolroom and you have much to learn. Just think. Soon Wilhelm and Louis will be going off to boarding school, and then you will be the eldest.”

This seems to appease him, and little Gretel, who obviously adores her cousin, goes along with him.

Mary Elizabeth smiles silently.

We get out their slates and chalk and they copy their letters while I watch. Lillian is reading to the older children in French across the room and for the first time I wonder how on earth I'm going to find out who Velvet is when I'm stuck here in the schoolroom. I study Lillian while she reads, but am not sure what to look for. Obviously, she isn't going to do any spying while teaching the children, and I can't just ask her about it.

Or can I?

Perhaps there's something I can ask, something that might make Velvet come out of her shell without arousing suspicion.

But what?

After the children finish their letters, I hand them pencils and their copybooks.

I hadn't thought of asking if we finish at the same time every afternoon or if the schedule varies. I rack my brain trying to figure out a way to meet Marissa Baum—I have no idea how a teacher is supposed to befriend an American socialite. Maybe if I can figure out which room is hers, I can accidentally run into her? Strike up a conversation? Or maybe I can pretend to be interested in learning more about America and ask to meet her?

Shaking my head, I call Prince Hubertus up to show me his copybook. His sturdy little body leans into mine and he smells like a combination of soap and freshly cut hay. Suddenly he pokes my cheek.

“What's that?”

I duck my head to find him staring at his finger, which now has a bit of red on it.

My heart sinks. “It's a birthmark.”

“What's a birthmark?”

I grab his hand and wipe the red off with a handkerchief. Did he smear the mark? Would Lillian notice? “It's a mark you're born with.”

“Why don't you just wipe it off?”

“It doesn't come off,” I whisper through clenched teeth.

He frowns and holds up his hand. “Then why did it come off on my finger?”

I glance at Lillian, who is engrossed in a botany lesson she's teaching. “It didn't,” I whisper fiercely. If Lillian catches wind of this conversation, it could be a disaster.

“It did,” he says stoutly. Lillian may not be aware of what's going on, but Mary Elizabeth and little Gretel are watching the interchange with interest.

“I want a birthmark.”

“Me too!” chimes in little Gretel.

“Do you like chocolate?” I ask, a little desperately.

A cunning expression comes over Prince Hubertus's face. “Yes.”

“Me too!” says little Gretel.

“If you all attend to your lessons and say no more, I'll bring you some chocolates as soon as I can get to a candy shop. Do we have a deal?”

Prince Hubertus tilts his head. “I want two chocolates.”

“Fine. Now go sit down,” I say with another glance at Lillian.

If Prince Hubertus is any indication of German stubbornness, the war doesn't look so good for Britain. I just pray his grubby little finger didn't smear the mark too noticeably.

After what seems like an interminably long time, Lillian calls for a break. I stand, my limbs cramping from sitting for so long. I resolve right then and there that no matter what happens in my life, I'm never going to be a teacher.

Lillian gives me a worried glance as we get ready to go out. “I'm sorry, I forgot to have you bring your coat. It's a bit chilly on our morning breaks. Here, take my sweater. I'll wear my coat.”

She doesn't even glance twice at my birthmark, so it must be all right. I slip into the cherry-red wool sweater she hands me and then help little Gretel put on a blue coat of soft leather with feathers decorating the cuffs and hood. Mary Elizabeth and Prince Hubertus put on their own jackets and then line up with the others. Whatever else Lillian is, she's obviously someone who runs a tight ship. The children seem incredibly well behaved.

You wouldn't know it a few minutes later as they run out into the courtyard with raucous shouts.

I grin at their enthusiasm and Lillian smiles indulgently. “They're penned up too much,” she tells me. “It's been a long winter and their fathers are all preoccupied with the war. It doesn't matter as much for the younger ones, but Prince Wilhelm, especially, could use his father's attention.”
She glances at me. “Not that I'm judging, you understand,” she puts in quickly.

I nod, wanting her to trust me. “Of course.” Then I use her words as an opening to talk politics. “My visit to Luxembourg was interesting. There were soldiers. The effects of the war aren't felt much where I live, other than the rationing.”

Her eyes are grave as she nods. “I can imagine that was disturbing.”

I wait a moment before continuing. “It seemed as if some of the Luxembourgians were quite complacent about the German presence, while others were disgruntled.”

I watch her face closely. One of the reasons LDB suspects that Lillian Bouchard may be Velvet is that she's half German and half French and therefore her loyalties may be torn. If she is Velvet, won't she be conflicted about her betrayal of Germany? Or would she? If she's spying for LDB, wouldn't she already have chosen her side?

“I'm sure they are conflicted,” she says, her voice harsh. “War is never easy. Especially for those of us with mixed parentage. But if nations don't stand with their allies against aggression, then they might as well not have allies.”

I blink. That argument was used by both the British and the Germans at the beginning of the war, and it gives me no insight whatsoever into Lillian's true allegiance.

Her attention is suddenly diverted. “Louis! The stick is for your hoop, not your little brother.”

“Stop bullying your siblings and come see your mother,”
a voice calls from the other side of the courtyard.

Three women walk toward us. One of them, dressed in a walking suit of rich peacock blue, is holding her arms out toward the children, a smile lighting up her face. Her brown hair is dressed in a simple chignon and she wears a small hat with matching blue flowers on top.

Another, carrying a sweater and a parasol, is obviously a maid, while the third is much younger and is dressed stylishly in a sporty suit made of soft brown wool. Her reddish-brown hair is cut in a daring bob, like mine, but hers comes to two sleek points on her jawline. Her eyes are a lively brown and freckles dot an impudent nose.

Marissa Baum.

My pulse speeds up with both excitement and nerves. I was getting concerned, trying to figure out how to meet Marissa, and here she is. I follow Lillian's lead into a deep curtsy, remembering that the duchess is a distant cousin who has met me, or Sophia Thérèse, once before.

Lillian introduces us, but the duchess waves the introduction aside.

“I would know my cousin anywhere by those curls, even if the face has changed immensely since she was three.”

I smile. The duchess herself is lovely, with lustrous, dark eyes, but I'm more interested in the girl by her side.

“So nice to see you again, Duchess. Thank you for the opportunity to come to Berlin. I'm honored to be teaching your children.”

“Not at all. I am sure Lillian appreciates the help. The
boys can be so rambunctious. This is my dear friend, Fräulein Marissa Baum, recently from America. She's related to the Hohenzollerns, though it would take a historian to figure out exactly how.”

“And who really cares anyway?” Miss Baum drawls in atrocious German.

Should I curtsy or kiss her hand or . . . ? As if sensing my discomfort, Miss Baum reaches out and shakes my hand.

“How do you do,” I say in English, careful to hide my British accent.

“Oh, Lord love you,” Miss Baum says, covering up my awkwardness. “I know my German is terrible, though everyone is relentlessly polite about it.” She rolls her eyes at the duchess, who merely smiles at her impertinence.

I watch Miss Baum as she speaks. Her gestures are animated and her brown eyes are alert. Actually, I think with a pang, her mannerisms are very similar to my cousin Rose's.

Around us, the children play hoops and ball, and even the girls run about as if they've been cooped up forever. As the others talk, mostly about the children, I glance from Miss Baum to Lillian, wondering which one could actually be Velvet. Miss Baum has more opportunity and freedom to be a spy—Lillian is hampered by her work with the children. On the other hand, as friendly as the duchess and Marissa Baum are, because of America's noncommittal stance toward the war, Miss Baum's heritage would make her somewhat suspect—but then so would Lillian's French parentage. And yet here they both are, practically members of the family.

On first impression, Lillian seems much more mature and serious, while Miss Baum seems far more adventurous, having traveled from America to Germany on a whim.

“What brings you to Germany, Miss Baum?” I ask. I blush, realizing that I've interrupted the duchess.

“Please call me Marissa. All this formality makes me wild. We don't hold to such customs in the States.”

“No, Marissa is from the Wild West,” the duchess says with a smile.

“I'd hardly call Chicago the West, nor is it wild. It's almost as big as Berlin, though the only palaces we have are on Lake Shore Drive.” She grins as if making a joke, then moves on, realizing that none of us understood it. “Sorry, that's where the wealthy people live. Anyhow, I came because I wanted to get to know my German cousins better. I was hoping for a European tour, but when I realized you all were having a war over here, I thought it would be prudent to postpone my trip for a while.” Her nose wrinkles as she grins.

My brows rise. “Your parents let you come all the way here alone, during a conflict?”

Her eyes zero in on mine. “How inquisitive you are!” she exclaims. “In America, young women are much freer in their movements, especially when they have oodles of money. And how about you? Your family didn't mind you traveling about willy-nilly by yourself during a war? You look younger than I am.”

“I'm actually twenty. How old are you?” I counter, trying to steer the conversation away from myself.

“Twenty? Really? You're older than I am!” She turns to the others. “She looks far younger, doesn't she?”

My stomach knots as everyone looks at my face. Thankfully, Marissa is suddenly distracted by two of the children. “Wilhelm! Louis! Do you want to hear more about the Indians?”

Marissa and the duchess wander off with the children in tow, leaving Lillian and me alone.

“I'm sorry if I offended anyone,” I say to Lillian. “I'm not really used to social chatter. Life in my village was very quiet in comparison to the palace.”

Lillian shakes her head. “Don't worry. The duchess is actually very modern in spite of her upbringing. Her friendship with Miss Baum attests to that.”

“When did Miss Baum arrive?” I ask.

“About five months ago. Everyone was surprised at how quickly she ingratiated herself with the duchess, but I think they're just being mean-spirited. Miss Baum is very nice and fresh and has quite a good mind. She amuses the duchess, who needs all the amusement she can get.”