Mrs. Roosevelt's Confidante (30 page)

“Why, Miss Hope, I thought you'd never ask.”

“I don't know how 1942 will end,” Tom said as he came out of the steamy bathroom, wrapped in nothing but a towel, “but I do know it started wonderfully well.”

Maggie, who had already bathed and dressed, caught a glimpse of him in the mirror as she put on lipstick. She whistled.

Tom put on his clothes, then went to the window. New Year's Day was a grim gray. “Not exactly a great omen,” he said.

“What are you going to do today?” Maggie asked.

“Roosevelt's declared a Universal Day of Prayer—thought I'd go.”

Maggie nodded. Newspapers across the country had contained full-page ecumenical ads asking Americans to go to the church of their choice. She flipped open the
Washington Post
on the dresser and read the President's words to the nation as she put on her pearl earrings.

The year 1941 had brought upon our nation, as the past two years have brought upon other nations, a war of aggression by powers dominated by arrogant rulers whose selfish purpose is to destroy free institutions. They would thereby take from the freedom-loving peoples of the earth the hard-won liberties gained over many centuries.

The new year of 1942 calls for the courage and the resolution of old and young to help win a world struggle in order that we may preserve all we hold dear.

We are confident in our devotion to country, in our love of freedom, in our inheritance of courage. But our strength, as the strength of all men everywhere, is of greater avail as God upholds us.

Therefore, I do hereby appoint the first day of the year 1942 as a day of prayer, of asking forgiveness for our shortcomings of the past, of consecration to the tasks of the present, of asking God's help in days to come.

We need His guidance that this people may be humble in spirit but strong in the conviction of the right; steadfast to endure sacrifice and brave to achieve a victory of liberty and peace.

“And then later today,” Tom said, “representatives from twenty-six Allied nations are meeting to pledge their support for the Atlantic Charter by signing the Declaration by United Nations.” He grinned. “I'll be there. With my camera, of course.”

“Of course,” Maggie said. “Look, my car will be here shortly. I'd rather we say our good-byes here, if you don't mind.”

He walked to her and wrapped his arms around her. “Take care, Maggie Hope,” he said, bending down to kiss her lips before going to put on his hat and coat. “And you never know, maybe I'll see you in London.”

Maggie wiped away a wayward tear. “I hope so, Tom. And wherever you're sent, please be careful. And, in the meantime, I'll write to you at Fort Bragg.”

Before she left the White House, Maggie had one more call to make.

“Andi?”

“Maggie!”

Maggie was relieved she'd caught her. “I just wanted to see how you're doing—we didn't have much time to talk that night.”

“That
crazy
night.”

“It was pretty crazy, wasn't it? And I've seen my share of crazy.” Maggie cleared her throat. “Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you're all right. What you did—”

“What I did was the right thing,” Andi finished, her voice strong. “I'm not ashamed. I may have”—she lowered her voice—“I may have pulled the wires out, but he's the one who stepped toward us. As far as I'm concerned, he did it to himself.”

“If you ever want to talk…”

“No.” Andi sounded adamant.

“Well, if you ever do, I'm ready to listen. And how is Wendell?”

“He's still in the hospital, but his momma's going every day, to make sure he's all right.” Andi sighed. “I don't know what's going to happen, but he's safe, at least for today.”

“The other reason I'm calling”—Maggie wrapped the coiled telephone cord around her wrist and took a soft breath—“is to say good-bye. I'm going back to London.”

“Good-bye?” Andi sounded shocked. “But you just got here!”

“I know, but do you remember my telling you about my sister—my half sister?”

“The one who wanted to be a nun?” Andi chuckled. “Yes, of course.”

“Well, it turns out she may be able to get to London. So I'm going back. I want to be there to meet her.”

“Well, I understand—if she were my sister, I'd do the same. I must say, it's been interesting, Maggie. And I hope we'll meet again someday.”

“I do, too, Andi. Maybe in London? We could actually go to places together there. Britain's not perfect, but on that count they're more civilized than most Americans.”

“When this damn war is over, we'll celebrate with tea at the Ritz,” Andi said decisively. “And then go dancing at that jazz club you mentioned.”

“The Blue Moon Club! All right, I'll write you a letter as soon as I get back to London.”

“Please do—we need to keep in touch. Bon voyage, Maggie Hope.”

“
Àbientôt,
Andrea Martin.”

As the blue-and-white streamlined passenger train
Southerner
made its way from Union Station in Washington, D.C., to Penn Station in New York City, Maggie stretched in her seat. She gazed out over the Chesapeake Bay, watching the gray clouds begin to melt away. The sky turned lighter, a filmy white, and then, finally, the deep blue of the American and British flags. It had been twenty-five days since the attack on Pearl Harbor and ten days since she'd arrived in the United States.

Maggie reached into her handbag for the paper with the code. Even with Mrs. Roosevelt's additional material, she didn't have enough to break it, she realized. Then she remembered that name Eleanor Roosevelt had mentioned in passing: Lucy Mercer.

She tried it as LUCYMER, to eliminate the repeated letters, making the code alphabet L U C Y M E R A B D F G H I J K N O P Q S T V W X Z for the usual A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z.

The hairs on Maggie's arms lifted as she realized she'd cracked the code. And so R S F G H V N R Q U Q R X X M N V F became O P E R A T I O N S N O W W H I T E or OPERATION SNOW WHITE. Could it refer to Blanche? It had to…The day was the same—and
blanche
meant white.

On the day of Prentiss's death, she decoded the entry J B C P M B Q V N Q L to read D U C K H U N T I N G.
Duck hunting
. She knew for a fact that the President wasn't duck hunting that day. Could it be a code for a shooting? Shooting a Byrd, perhaps?

And what were the larger implications? That the President had a personal intelligence service beyond J. Edgar Hoover. That his intelligence officers had discovered a plot to discredit the First Lady.

Prentiss had killed Blanche and left the note. But what if he hadn't? What would Frank Cole have done that night? And what was he planning to do on the night of the execution?

Her head was spinning. Maggie tore the paper with the code and her decryption into tiny pieces. Then she opened the window and threw out the pieces. They were picked up by the wind, scattering over the stony Maryland shore.

She took a deep breath. The First Lady had not been dishonored. The Roosevelt Administration was stronger than ever. And the United States and Britain stood together with a newly created organization of two dozen other nations to take down the Axis.

A woman, Blanche Balfour, had been murdered. A man, Byrd Prentiss, had died. And a young man, Wendell Cotton, had been saved.

Maggie leaned against the headrest. She was thinking about her love of math. How clean it had always seemed, how elegant and pure.
But it isn't like that anymore, is it, Hope?

And really, it never had been—that was just how she'd seen it when she was younger. She'd once believed math was tidy and predictable—with right and wrong answers. Now modern math and physics and quantum mechanics—and modern life—seemed to be more in line with Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle. Uncertainty was a fundamental part of nature, and what people knew—what people
thought
they knew—was imprecise at best. It all depended on who was telling the story.

She had returned to the United States hoping to find out where she belonged—the United States or the United Kingdom. But now it struck her that a woman without a country, without a husband, without parents, and without religion was in the perfect position to be a spy. To be on her own, not answering to anyone.

She was free.

The train pulled out from a dark pine forest and careened along the rocky Atlantic shore, patches of sun skidding across the indigo water. It passed beneath the dappled clouds as it traveled in and then out of the shadows.

In the leather seat in front of Maggie, a young mother held her pink-cheeked baby wrapped in a paisley shawl over her shoulder; he appraised Maggie with bright blue eyes. Maggie waved. The baby gave a gummy grin back, then bit down on his chubby fist, kicked his feet, and laughed. Maggie laughed along with him.

She was thankful that the groundwork for victory had been laid. She was looking forward to returning to London. She couldn't wait to see her friend Sarah and to reunite with her cat, Mr. K. She was looking forward to seeing her sister again, to explain things to her, and to try to salvage their relationship. And she was also looking forward to returning to work for the SOE—and learning what her next mission would be.

The red sun was setting over the north London countryside. Through the smoke, Chatswell House was still standing, although it had sustained an immense amount of damage from the fire.

As the day drew to a close, one of the firemen leaned on his shovel. “I'm sorry, sir,” he said to Naumann. They were surrounded by still-smoking ruins. “But there's no way any prisoner could have survived.”

Naumann sighed. “At least we got the men out. They're back in custody in the Tower.” To the firefighters, white-haired men with lined faces—too old to serve in the military but still spry enough to do their duty—he said, “Thank you, gentlemen. You've all worked valiantly. It was an old manor house, with plenty of wood. You did your best.” He kicked at a smoking ember, the remains of a Tudor beam. “Sometimes you can't save them all.”

“What about the loon who set the fires?” another asked.

“He's in hospital,” Arthur answered. “Last I heard, he survived. But barely.”

“We've got enough problems 'ere—bloody fool has to make more?”

“
There is more in heaven and earth…
Well…however the damn thing goes.” Naumann looked at the men. They'd been working for over twenty-four hours. “What's the local here?”

“The Green Dragon, sir.”

“All right, then,” Naumann said. “First round's on me.”

It was after midnight, more than twenty-four hours since the fire had started, when Clara emerged from her hiding spot.

There were no voices, no sounds of men battling flames. All that was left were some stonework and a few still-smoking beams. Clara opened the paneled door to what remained of her cell. She made her way down the central staircase, stepped over the remnants of the charred front door.

She looked up at the glittering stars and took a greedy breath of cold, smoky air.

And then she began to make her way to the road that she knew would take her, eventually, to London.

It is the duty of the older generation, if possible, to leave an authentic record of their experiences during World War II for the benefit of future generations. Without it, history would simply be hearsay.

—Peter Hart, M House secret listener

This is a novel. It is a work of fiction. If you want to read history, I suggest reading a nonfiction book or, better still, a library of them. However, in the course of writing this book, I consulted many nonfiction books and documentaries, and I'm delighted to share my reading and watching list.

First an overall thank-you to the extraordinary filmmaker and documentarian Ken Burns. Yes, I watched almost all of his series, concentrating on
Jazz, Baseball, The War, The National Parks,
and, of course,
The Roosevelts.
What a terrific overview of life in the United States before and during World War II through many lenses.

In terms of researching Winston Churchill and Franklin D. Roosevelt's meeting of December 1941 at the White House, I relied on many sources, including:
Franklin and Winston: An Intimate Portrait of an Epic Friendship
by Jon Meacham;
One Christmas in Washington: The Secret Meeting Between Roosevelt and Churchill That Changed the World
by David Bercuson and Holger Hedwig;
Franklin and Winston: A Christmas That Changed the World
by Douglas Wood; and
December 1941: 31 Days That Changed America and Saved the World
by Craig Shirley
.

For Eleanor Roosevelt, I relied on
My Day: The Best of Eleanor Roosevelt's Acclaimed Newspaper Columns, 1936–1962
by Eleanor Roosevelt.

For researching the White House and Washington, D.C., I studied
White House Butlers: A History of White House Chief Ushers and Butlers
by Howard Brinkley;
The White House: The President's Home in Photographs and History
by Vicki Goldberg in cooperation with the White House Historical Association;
The Willard Hotel: An Illustrated History
by Richard Wallace Carr and Marie Pinak Carr;
National Geographic
's
Inside the White House: Stories from the World's Most Famous Residence
by Noel Grove with William B. Bushong and Joel D. Treese;
Washington, D.C.: Then and Now
by Alexander D. Mitchell IV;
The White House: Its Historic Furnishings and First Families
by Betty C. Monkman; and
The Mayflower Hotel: Grande Dame of Washington, D.C.
by Judith R. Cohen.

For an overall look at the United States during that pivotal time, I am indebted to
The American Home Front: 1941–1942
by Alistair Cooke.

I also consulted the following documentaries: National Geographic's
Inside the White House;
Smithsonian Channel's
White House Revealed;
Smithsonian Folkways'
White House Workers; Inside the White House;
PBS's
Echoes from the White House; American Experience:
“Eleanor Roosevelt”;
Biography:
“Eleanor Roosevelt: A Restless Spirit”; Richard Kaplan Productions'
The Eleanor Roosevelt Story;
Team Productions'
FDR: A Presidency Revealed;
and
Biography:
“FDR: Years of Crisis.”

To learn more about President Roosevelt and wiretapping as well as his personal secret security detail, I relied on Joseph E. Persico's
Roosevelt's Secret War: FDR and World War II Espionage.
While Frank Cole is a fictional character, he's based on journalist John Franklin Carter, FDR's associate.

Yes, the British did put high-ranking Nazis up at various manor houses outside London and monitored every word they uttered, recording and transcribing the relevant ones. I relied on
Tapping Hitler's Generals: Transcripts of Secret Conversations 1942–45,
edited by Sönke Neitzel; Helen Fry's
The M Room: Secret Listeners Who Bugged the Nazis;
and the documentary
Secrets of the Dead:
“Bugging Hitler's Soldiers.”

And, yes, the British did have a secret weapon of 3-D photography, with which, in tandem with information from the bugged German officers, they discovered Hitler's rocket program. Sources were:
Spies in the Sky: The Secret Battle for Aerial Intelligence During World War II
by Taylor Downing;
Operation Crossbow: The Untold Story of the Search for Hitler's Secret Weapons
by Allan Williams;
Nova:
“3D Spies of WWII”;
National Geographic War and Military Collection:
“Nazi Secret Weapons”;
Top Secret Weapons Revealed:
“Nazi War Machines”;
Top Secret Weapons Revealed:
“In Search of the Smart Bomb”; and
Nazi Mega Weapons:
“V2 Rocket.”

John Sterling's progression from wounded RAF pilot to children's storyteller is inspired by the career path of Roald Dahl. Yes, he sold an idea for a book and movie about RAF Gremlins to Walt Disney! I relied on
The Irregulars: Roald Dahl and the British Spy Ring in Wartime Washington
by Jennet Conant. For period details about the Beverly Hills Hotel, where Roald Dahl stayed, courtesy of the Walt Disney Company, I consulted
The Pink Palace: Behind Closed Doors at the Beverly Hills Hotel
by Sandra Lee Stuart. For an insider's look at the Disney Studios, I referred to
Walt Disney and Assorted Other Characters: An Unauthorized Account of the Early Years at Disney's
by Jack Kinney and
The Disney That Never Was: The Stories and Art of Five Decades of Unproduced Animation
by Charles Solomon.

People will probably say that a mixed-race, lesbian, possibly transgendered person couldn't possibly have had access to Eleanor Roosevelt, let alone eventually become a practicing lawyer—and they'd be wrong. Andrea (Andi) Martin is based on the indomitable civil rights lawyer and feminist Pauli Murray. Andi's also inspired by actress-model-writer-traveler Anita Reynolds, who spent significant time in Paris in the 1930s.

The fictional character Wendell Cotton is based on Odell Waller, a black sharecropper sentenced to death by an all-white, poll-tax-paying jury in Virginia in 1941 and championed by a young Pauli Murray. The real Odell Waller, alas, was executed.

To research American history and race, I spoke with my late mother-in-law, Edna MacNeal, who lived through it and discussed her own experiences with me (usually over a glass or two of red wine). I also relied on the books
Defying Dixie: The Radical Roots of Civil Rights, 1919–1950
by Glenda Elizabeth Gilmore;
Freedom's Daughters: The Unsung Heroines of the Civil Rights Movement from 1830 to 1970
by Lynne Olson;
The Case of Odell Waller and Virginia Justice, 1940–1942
by Richard B. Sherman;
American Cocktail: A “Colored Girl” in the World
by Anita Reynolds;
Proud Shoes: The Story of an American Family
by Pauli Murray; and
Dark Testament and Other Poems
by Pauli Murray.