Cilla turned off the wireless and headed down one flightof stairs to the top apartment, which had more space for a meeting.
Commander Yardley, Imogene, and Gwen joined her at a round table, and Cilla showed them her deciphered message.
“Excellent,” Yardley said. “On your next day in town, collect the prices of goods.”
Cilla shot a glance to Imogene, then sent Yardley an innocent smile. “I haven’t yet been to town, except to attend church.”
A rumble rose from Yardley’s throat. “St. Clair and Reese, we had an agreement. One of you is to take Cilla to Thurso once a week. She hasn’t given you a bit of trouble, and she’s borne her confinement with nothing but cheer and grace.”
Cilla’s chest lightened. “Why, thank you, sir.”
“Your privileges can be revoked.” He glared at her.
“Yes, sir. But thank you. My reports will sound more authentic if they come from experience.”
“Which is why we had our agreement.” Yardley swung his glare to the Wrens.
“Aye, aye, sir,” they said, Gwen lowering her chin and Imogene jerking hers to the side.
Yardley tapped Cilla’s transcript with his finger. “As for the information on shipping losses, tell Kraus you don’t have access to that information.”
Cilla’s idea floated out of her mouth. “I might. Through Mr. Mackenzie, the lieutenant’s father. He owns a salvage company, and he—”
“We can’t use him as a source.” Yardley knifed the air with his hand. “Nor can we say ‘Samson’ knows about the salvage industry. It stretches credibility.”
“No, but as a double agent, I’m supposed to develop other sources, yes? People I’m supposed to have met in town. I could attribute the information from Mr. Mackenzie to a fictional source.”
“That would be most unwise,” Imogene said.
“Hear her out.” Yardley dipped his chin to Cilla. “Continue.”
She clasped her hands together in front of her chest. “I met her in town whilst shopping. Her name is Margaret, but she’s called Maggie. She’s nineteen, moderately attractive, very quiet, but if you ask the right questions, she’ll talk forever. Her fiancé was killed in the retreat in France, and she blames the English—which makes her willing to share information. She works at a salvage company as a secretary. She’s a good typist. Her work is very interesting to her, but it bores everyone else. However, I find it fascinating, so she tells me all sorts of things.”
Yardley’s eyebrows elevated. “You’ve thought about this.”
Cilla could see Maggie in her mind. “She’s the third of four children, the only girl, lived in Thurso all her life, but she longs to travel. My Dutch heritage intrigues her, and she loves to hear my stories. And—yes! She has a new boyfriend. Oh! He belongs to Free Caledonia. Yes!”
Yardley laughed and made a patting motion. “Slow down.”
Her hands clapped, over and over, barely making a sound. “Can’t you see? I could use information about Free Caledonia from Neil Mackenzie and attribute it to Fergus.”
“Fergus?”
“Yes, Fergus.” His image formed, stepping out of the fog and into the light.
“That’s brilliant.” Gwen sat up taller. “Mr. Mackenzie and his son talk freely.”
“Gwen.” Imogene spoke in that sweet but condescending tone of hers. “Don’t be so quick to accept her ideas, simply because she’s nice to you.”
“Ladies.” Yardley flipped up a hand to them, then fixed his gaze on Cilla. “Let’s keep Fergus on hold, but I’ll run Maggie by the Twenty Committee. It might work.”
Cilla couldn’t stop smiling. She hadn’t had such fun in months, even when teasing Lachlan.
Gwen kept her chin down, not concealing the bright pink of her cheeks. She wasn’t having fun, not after Imogene had belittled her again.
Speaking up wouldn’t help, given her own status in the group. It had always bothered her when girls like Imogene used their social position to shove others lower. Cilla had never used her own popularity like that—but she hadn’t always stopped those who did.
Like her own sister. She hadn’t stopped Hilde that day at the seashore many years before.
