Chapter 11

After her required week of bed rest, Roberta moved from her room to the front parlor for a change of scenery, followed closely by her brood of kittens. Early December was too cold for her to go outdoors, so to entertain herself, she read, played chess with whoever was free, and picked up a long untouched knitting bag of yarns and patterns a relative had given her. In between distractions, she grumbled about being cooped up, reminding Phileas painfully of Rebecca. His wife had never handled forced inactivity well either.

Those thoughts brought pangs of homesickness, which struck him as odd since he was sitting in his own house. So accustomed had he become to Rebecca's soothing presence, Phileas felt lost without her, and their son and the child to come. He missed them all terribly. Will there be any notice of my absence? Will I be returned to the moment I left, as the timekeepers said? In response or reaction to what he could see of Rebecca in Roberta, Phileas sought out her company, attempting to make her confinement as comfortable as possible.

Unlike Phileas, Loren seemed to consider his cousin recovered enough not to require gentle handling. He teased and baited Roberta constantly. He goaded her into arguments, and rapid-fire barb exchanges could have made their houseguests think they hated each other, if not for evidence to the contrary. Nonetheless, for the sake of peace and decorum, Phileas felt the need to step in.

"It isn't dignified," he complained. Loren hedged the complaint with complaints against his cousin's penchant for being a mother hen. Roberta laughed and assured Phileas that it was all good fun. The mock battles didn't stop. Phileas had not really expected them to. The young man might favor him in appearance, but Loren was his scamp brother Erasmus in every other way. And he had noticed, Roberta held her own, never allowing Loren an upper hand.

Today, as the household enjoyed a quiet afternoon, Roberta's superior from Whitehall came to visit. They were all in the parlor when his car drove up the drive. The men had been reading. Roberta had settled into her usual place on the sofa, covered with a lap blanket with her leg propped up. She was working on a new knitting project when a servant escorted her superior into the parlor.

The visitor was an officious man in his late forties with a brisk manner. Phileas listened. He was no Chatsworth. Looking into the spymaster's eyes, Phileas had to suppress a shudder. There was a ruthless calculating mind behind those eyes that was too reminiscent of Sir Boniface to take.

After greetings all around, the man perched on the end of the sofa near Roberta. He congratulated her on a successful mission, tendering his sympathy for her loss, and asking how she was healing. He handed her a commendation for her service and resignation papers. "Your father's death was a tragedy. Losing you with him would have been more tragic. But, unfortunately, you two have become too well known, too sought after. I'm sorry, but after a full investigation, it has been decided you cannot be of use without astronomical risk to yourself and anyone working with you. As much as I'm going to miss your expertise, I must let you go."

Roberta looked downcast but didn't say anything.

"Now, don't take it that way," he said. The investigation discovered your father's death was not arranged by Captain Holtz. He found out about it after the fact and ordered the search you narrowly escaped. The first attack came from a new Gestapo squad working in France. They were asking about and hunting you two by name. Jacques has been told to observe more than act for the time being. We don't want to chance losing him."

After the debriefing, he bid Roberta to sign the papers. "Your father is going to be a hard man to replace, Miss Fogg… and you." He stuffed the papers into his valise and left the house.

Loren frowned at the departing bureaucrat as he left. This was far too reminiscent of the way I resigned. Mind you, the man did consider my last act as an agent spectacular enough to warrant a knighthood. He does at least try to give ex-agents a flattering send-off. This… seems far too little.

Loren's former superior was not one to move the wounded into clerical positions. Once an agent was no longer in top form, he got rid of them. A privately offered commendation, after eleven years' service shouldn't have been too much to ask. That and a few boxes in the foyer with her and his uncle's belongings was it. The driver had brought them into the house before they left.

"Well, I can't say I'm not happy to see you out, despite the method," Loren said. Another frown was thrown toward the windows after the man's departing motorcar. "Now, perhaps you will settle down and have your debut?" He teased, using a mock battle to dispel his bad mood.

Roberta gave him an odd look and laughed. "At my age; certainly not."

"Well, at least consider joining the spring season; find a husband. You are long overdue for marriage you know."

"You first," Roberta said.

"Age before beauty," Loren snapped back.

"Oh, you… Brat!" Roberta nailed Loren to the wall with a look and threw the first thing she could lay hands on: the large ball of yarn she had been working with. The ball hit her cousin square in the chest.

Loren counted himself lucky it hadn't been the knitting needles and fled the room laughing.

Jules laughed as he left. He had seen Loren bait his pretty cousin plenty. They seemed to thrive on it.

Phileas didn't like it didn't censor them. "You never had a debut?"

"Mother died when I was sixteen," Roberta said, getting control of her temper. Her kittens were now attacking the unwound yarn spreading it across the floor. "Before her death, she had been planning it, but I couldn't have gone through with it without her. The next year, I was with father in France. The next we were in the Middle East. I've attended plenty of parties and balls. I haven't missed anything. Loren just brings that up when he wants to taunt me about being an old maid. My baby cousin should worry about himself. He's the one who must carry on the family name."

Roberta moved back to her room with her boxes and kittens. She picked up her commendation to look at again, as well as the envelope her boss had slipped into its folder. The letter contained the background check on Phileas she had requested. A blank page, that. Absolutely nothing had been found. There were no birth records, no travel visas, nothing. Yet, Loren said he was family and that their grandmother had known him. Is he lying to me? Why?

There was also a letter in the folder requesting her to accept service in another branch of government based at Oxford, related to work at Bletchley Park. Her duties would involve encryption and she would be required to take classes to cover her presence. Whether the war lasted long enough or not, she was guaranteed a bachelor's degree in any field of study she chose. That had been the arrangements made for Loren during his tenure with the service. It more than intrigued her.

Attached to that was a small handwritten note.

Roberta,

Come join us. You will love this work!

Lacy

"The little brat!"

Roberta shook her head wondering when her other cousin had been recruited into the intelligence service and if her brother knew about it. Likely not. Loren will hit the roof if he found out his sister was doing anything of the kind, even desk research. Also, those working in such research were sworn to strict secrecy. Sometimes, even sequestered away from all outside contact to ensure it.

No, Loren doesn't know anything about this.

For a moment, Roberta enjoyed the irony of it. Loren thought he had stolen Lacy from the horrors of the Red Cross inspection ranks to a nice safe place studying languages. She excelled in those studies too, so he had bragged. Just what the powers would look for in encryption.

As soon as Roberta had regained her strength, she decided to use her crutches to take a walk outdoors. She was dressed in a pretty, blue coat with a matching hat. On one leg she wore a knee-high boot. The other leg was incased from knee to toe, sported a black knit stocking cover to match her boot.

Loren caught her at the front door after breakfast. "What are you going?"

"Taking a walk," Roberta said.

"Are you trying to get the other leg broken? No, come back into the house."

And the battle commenced.

"Baby cousin," Roberta said, tight-lipped, "you are neither my father nor my brother and have no business forbidding me anything."

Loren answered at a near shout. "I will if I think you will cause yourself harm, or in this case, have taken leave of your senses! There is a foot of snow on the ground! Are you out of your mind?"

"Loren Randolph Fogg, I am perfectly capable of seeing the state of the weather!" Roberta then lowered her tone. "I need to get out of this house for a while and don't care about the snow. Now, if you don't get out of my way, I'm going to thrash you with one of these crutches! Now move!"

"In a pig's eye I'll move… Roberta Rose! Don't take that tone with me. I'll carry you back to your room and lock you in until your sanity returns."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Oh, wouldn't I!"

Hearing yet another battle, Phileas entered the field, offering a compromise. "Loren, we can have a horse cart brought around. I'll take her on a leisurely ride around the grounds, every other day she wishes. It will give her needed exercise and supervision."

Loren relented. "We have a sled you can use, better than the cart in the snow."

Roberta surprisingly backed down, thanking him.

Phileas watched them return to the house. The fight had amused more than bothered him this time. What had come out of Roberta's mouth had been all too close to something he and Rebecca would have said, back in the day. He had been hard pressed not to laugh. Besides her eyes, Roberta looked nothing like his Rebecca, but her temperament was the same–and her wit.