Read Online His Majesty's Hope by Susan Elia MacNeal - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan Elia MacNeal
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Hitler’s
Mein Kampf
. You’ll be given a suitcase with a few changes of clothes, your gown for the party, more undergarments, a nightgown, and toiletries, including German-brand sanitary towels, just in case.”
Noreen appraised Maggie’s face. “You don’t wear much makeup—that’s good. Nazi women don’t, just like they’re not supposed to smoke and drink—not that that stops them, of course.” She laughed. “Oh, all this luxury is wasted on you! You should see what we have picked out for the girls parachuting into France later this month—hideous dowdy things—no style at all. Smelly and scratchy. You’re very lucky.” Without missing a beat, she continued, “Nelson gave you the lipstick with the cyanide pill in it, yes? Let’s put that in there.”
Maggie transferred the gold tube with the false bottom from her bag to Margareta’s. She sniffed—the bag smelled of something both beautiful and disarming. “Oh, that’s wonderful,” she said. “What is it?”
“Jicky,” Noreen said. “There
are
benefits to conquering France—Jicky is Guerlain, of course. There’s a small bottle in your purse. And this is one of our best toys.” Noreen handed Maggie a red and white box of Milde Sorte cigarettes. Maggie turned it this way and that to see what it really was. “It’s a subminiature spy camera with a film cartridge, small enough to fit into a cigarette pack. Just in case you find anything useful.”
Noreen patted a chair. “Now, come, sit down. I’m going to teach you how to do your hair.” With deft fingers, she fashioned Maggie’s coppery tresses into an intricately braided updo, the latest in Germanic elegance.
“I feel like I should be dancing around a solstice bonfire,” Maggie said, turning her head back and forth and looking in the mirror of her compact. “I just hope I can replicate it.”
“You’ll have plenty of downtime with nothing to do, so you can practice.” Noreen scooped up Maggie’s clothes and folded them, then wrapped them in brown paper. “We’ll keep these safe for you,” she promised. “And it’s only four days. You’ll be back before you know it.”
Then Noreen handed Maggie a scrap of silk with writing on it. Maggie’s codes. For her to use each time she communicated, and then tear off and destroy. “And what happens if you don’t have the silk and you need to radio us?”
“Then I have to use a poem instead,” Maggie answered. “A poem I’ve memorized.”
“If the enemy knows you’ve destroyed this code, it will be in their power to make you tell them your poem.” Noreen’s eyes were grave. “Remember it’s what would allow the Germans to transmit to England and endanger the lives of all who come after you. That’s why you have the pill.” Then she smiled. “Now, here’s your ‘poem’—we chose it especially for you.”
Maggie was expecting something from Shakespeare, Milton, or even the King James Bible—but not what Noreen passed her.
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”
Maggie smiled, delighted to see the words again. As she’d been taught, she picked five words at random:
equal, rights, life, liberty
, and
happiness
. Noreen copied the words down, then created Maggie’s code. And so the five words became:
e q u a l r i g h t s l i f e l i b e r t y h a p p
which corresponded to the code alphabet of
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
“You’re our honorary Yank,” Noreen said. “So we wanted something appropriate.” She pointed to Maggie’s skirt. “There’s a secret pocket in the hem.”
Maggie found it and tucked the scrap of silk away.
“Oh, and there’s one more thing.” From a shelf, Noreen pulled a bag full of black yarn and long knitting needles. She drew out a scarf in progress. “Margareta is a
Mein Kampf
. You’ll be given a suitcase with a few changes of clothes, your gown for the party, more undergarments, a nightgown, and toiletries, including German-brand sanitary towels, just in case.”
Noreen appraised Maggie’s face. “You don’t wear much makeup—that’s good. Nazi women don’t, just like they’re not supposed to smoke and drink—not that that stops them, of course.” She laughed. “Oh, all this luxury is wasted on you! You should see what we have picked out for the girls parachuting into France later this month—hideous dowdy things—no style at all. Smelly and scratchy. You’re very lucky.” Without missing a beat, she continued, “Nelson gave you the lipstick with the cyanide pill in it, yes? Let’s put that in there.”
Maggie transferred the gold tube with the false bottom from her bag to Margareta’s. She sniffed—the bag smelled of something both beautiful and disarming. “Oh, that’s wonderful,” she said. “What is it?”
“Jicky,” Noreen said. “There
are
benefits to conquering France—Jicky is Guerlain, of course. There’s a small bottle in your purse. And this is one of our best toys.” Noreen handed Maggie a red and white box of Milde Sorte cigarettes. Maggie turned it this way and that to see what it really was. “It’s a subminiature spy camera with a film cartridge, small enough to fit into a cigarette pack. Just in case you find anything useful.”
Noreen patted a chair. “Now, come, sit down. I’m going to teach you how to do your hair.” With deft fingers, she fashioned Maggie’s coppery tresses into an intricately braided updo, the latest in Germanic elegance.
“I feel like I should be dancing around a solstice bonfire,” Maggie said, turning her head back and forth and looking in the mirror of her compact. “I just hope I can replicate it.”
“You’ll have plenty of downtime with nothing to do, so you can practice.” Noreen scooped up Maggie’s clothes and folded them, then wrapped them in brown paper. “We’ll keep these safe for you,” she promised. “And it’s only four days. You’ll be back before you know it.”
Then Noreen handed Maggie a scrap of silk with writing on it. Maggie’s codes. For her to use each time she communicated, and then tear off and destroy. “And what happens if you don’t have the silk and you need to radio us?”
“Then I have to use a poem instead,” Maggie answered. “A poem I’ve memorized.”
“If the enemy knows you’ve destroyed this code, it will be in their power to make you tell them your poem.” Noreen’s eyes were grave. “Remember it’s what would allow the Germans to transmit to England and endanger the lives of all who come after you. That’s why you have the pill.” Then she smiled. “Now, here’s your ‘poem’—we chose it especially for you.”
Maggie was expecting something from Shakespeare, Milton, or even the King James Bible—but not what Noreen passed her.
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”
Maggie smiled, delighted to see the words again. As she’d been taught, she picked five words at random:
equal, rights, life, liberty
, and
happiness
. Noreen copied the words down, then created Maggie’s code. And so the five words became:
e q u a l r i g h t s l i f e l i b e r t y h a p p
which corresponded to the code alphabet of
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
“You’re our honorary Yank,” Noreen said. “So we wanted something appropriate.” She pointed to Maggie’s skirt. “There’s a secret pocket in the hem.”
Maggie found it and tucked the scrap of silk away.
“Oh, and there’s one more thing.” From a shelf, Noreen pulled a bag full of black yarn and long knitting needles. She drew out a scarf in progress. “Margareta is a
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