Dunnet Head
Thursday, September 18, 1941
Although Cilla preferred sunshine, the gray light of an overcast morning held a gentle appeal.
The lack of reflection off the Fresnel lens also made her work easier, as did the piano music of Kay Cavendish on the BBC.
Leaning against the diamond-paned windows, Cilla logged two plump and ponderous battleships down in Pentland Firth with three destroyers, skinny and low to the waves. The ships coasted back and forth, probably on exercises, the type of activity Yardley and Lachlan approved for her reports.
Cilla closed her logbook, returned to the worktable, and set out last night’s wireless transmission from Kraus, a blank sheet of paper, and her cardboard cipher disc.
Her cipher disc had a larger outer circle and a smaller inner circle fastened with a metal pin in the center. She turned the inner circle to line up theAwith theYin the outer circle, according to Kraus’s instructions.
Then she found each letter or numeral in Kraus’s messageon the outer circle and transcribed the corresponding letter or numeral on the inner circle.
In time, the message spilled out on her paper. Kraus asked about shortages and prices, listing certain foods. He asked about changes to the rationing system, the length of queues to buy food, and if people complained of hunger.
Cilla tapped her pencil to her chin. In the Battle of the Atlantic, German U-boats sank dozens of ships each month. Since Britain couldn’t grow enough food to feed her own people, she depended on imports, which made her vulnerable to blockade.
MI5 allowed Cilla to report freely on such topics. The rationing system was strict but fair, and no one went hungry. In fact, everyone was thrilled at the new flow of goods from America under the Lend-Lease plan.
As the BBC switched to Molly Forbes on the theater organ, Cilla finished deciphering the message. Kraus praised Cilla’s reports on ship movements, but he wanted details on shipping losses. How many, where, what type, what cargo they carried.
“How am I supposed to know that?” she said to no one. Lachlan Mackenzie wouldn’t know much, especially as “Samson.”
However, his father would, and Malcolm Mackenzie often shared about the salvage business over Sunday dinners.
But she could hear Lachlan thundering, “Stay away from my parents.”
He was right. She couldn’t use Mr. Mackenzie as a source. Besides, even if Lachlan barely tolerated her, she liked him, and she didn’t want to make his burden even heavier.
He wasn’t nearly as unfeeling as he acted. At home, he was sweet with his parents and his dog. For all his gruff bluster, he was kind to others. He didn’t hesitate to stand up to Cilla—but he’d also stood upforher with Imogene.
At times, he even laughed—all the more enchanting for its rarity.
Last Sunday, Neil was also home, and Lachlan didn’t smile once. Neil goaded his older brother, and Lachlan never replied—except with a taut mouth and hardened gaze.
His noble restraint touched her heart.
Cilla shoved back her chair and went to the window. She’d always preferred men who doted on her and indulged her, something Lachlan would never do. Instead, he challenged her.
So why did she anticipate the weekends? Anticipate his company and the chance of stoking up that rich, deep laugh?
“I need to get out and meet other men.” Where was her prince to stand at the base of the lighthouse tower and call, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair”?
Only birds flew by beneath her, and fewer each day as summer turned to autumn.
At the worktable, she pulled out her basket and arranged feathers and dried flowers in a pretty pattern on a sheet of paper. Gerrit had told her she’d find freedom in the trap. She hadn’t, but she concentrated on her work and the good it could do, and she looked for amusement.
Her cousin Aleida had always collected shells and stones and things. Cilla never understood why, until now as she admired the colors and shapes and designs.
Aleida ... Cilla hadn’t seen her since Aleida and Sebastiaan’s wedding day. Cilla had tried to visit a few times, but the servants had turned her away at the door. Assuming Aleida was too busy for family, Cilla had stopped trying.
Cilla frowned and rearranged a fan-shaped design of feathers. That wasn’t like Aleida at all. Why hadn’t she kept trying? Insisted on seeing her cousin? What if something was wrong in that house?
With a groan, Cilla swept her treasures into her basket. She had to find something to occupy her mind or she’d lose it.
Voices and footsteps rose up the stairs.
