“Yes. But only after Isabella alerted us to the situation. Oh, Isabella was flattered, at first. But like you, your great-aunt was no fool. She began to suspect something was off about Peters and did some sleuthing. When she discovered his true identity—I don’t actually know all the details about how, because that was before my time—she immediately contacted her former college professor.”
“Who asked her to spy for the U.S.?”
“It was a little more complicated than that, but essentially, yes.”
I wrinkled my nose in concentration. “Wait—did she actually steal anything from the estate?”
“She did, but it was all part of her cover story. She made sure Paul Peters knew about it, you see. Told him some story about how she was desperate, how she needed money so badly that she’d do anything—”
I couldn’t prevent a swear word from flying from my lips. “He recruited her to spy for the Soviets?”
“Yes, for money. And knowing about her so-called theft—the items were quietly returned a year later, by the way—Peters thought he had an additional hold over her.”
“But she was actually working for you?”
“Well, not me, exactly. I was a child at the time. I was assigned to be her handler many years later. But yes, she was secretly working for the U.S.”
I sputtered something unintelligible before collecting myself enough to speak again. “She was a freaking secret agent?”
Ellen’s smile twisted into a grimace. “She was.”
I stared wildly about the library. “And Chapters? And her books?”
“The money was provided by the U.S. government. Compensation for her services, as well as an excellent cover for her activities.” Ellen shrugged. “As far as the world was concerned, she was a wealthy social butterfly. She circulated in high society, hosting and attending events that brought together some, shall we say, interesting people. Parties that Paul Peters often attended as well, thinking he was being offered the opportunity to gather valuable information sought by his own handlers.”
“But he was being played, I suppose.”
“Like a fiddle. Oh, we shared a few insignificant true facts. Just enough to keep him on the string. But more importantly, wealso fed him information that we wanted him to transmit back to the U.S.S.R.”
“Disinformation, you mean.”
“Exactly.” Ellen folded her hands neatly in her lap. She looked like nothing more than a trendy grandmother, but I could spy ice in her eyes. “It was quite a successful little operation for many years. Although poor Isabella …” Ellen exhaled a deep sigh. “She had to pretend to love him, you see. He was mad about her from the beginning, but I doubt she ever felt the same. Still, it was useful, him loving her as well as believing he was running her. I think his feelings blinded him to many things, which ultimately proved good for Isabella, and us.”
A thought flashed through my mind. My great-aunt, always living alone … “But she couldn’t pursue any other serious relationship.”
“No. Peters didn’t want to live with her. I suppose he thought that much intimacy might blow his cover. Also, he was away a lot—he actually lived in England, where he kept up appearances as a university lecturer. I also have it on good authority that he took a few clandestine trips to his real homeland.” Ellen shifted in her chair. “But he was a jealous man. He didn’t make much effort to find out what Isabella did when he was away, so we all overlooked her short-term flings, but he definitely would’ve known something was off if she’d embarked on a serious romantic relationship.”
“He sent her coded letters.”
“One of which you found. She shared those with me when I was her handler, of course, but she didn’t mention keeping a coded journal.” Ellen raised her eyebrows. “That was definitelyagainst protocol. But then, Isabella wasn’t one to religiously follow all the rules.”
“Do you want the journal? I mean, maybe you or someone you know can crack the code.”
“I would like to have it, but I doubt we’ll bother to try to read it. Those events are too far in the past to matter now. But I suppose it might be best if it’s kept locked up somewhere.”
I twitched my lips into a smile. “Just in case it proves that aliens did land at Roswell and the government has been covering it up all this time?”
Ellen laughed. “Wrong time period. More like we faked the moon landing. Which we didn’t,” she added, waving one hand through the air. “Anyway, just give it to me whenever you want. I’ll find a proper home for it.”
I studied her intelligent face for a moment. “You retired very early, if my calculations are correct. You would’ve only been about forty when you moved here in the eighties. Why was that? Were you still Isabella’s handler?”
“No, she’d retired at that point. Paul Peters died, and we saw no point in trying to set her up with anyone else. Besides, she’d already been in the game for far too many years. The agency felt it was time she was out. They allowed her to keep the house free and clear, and do whatever she pleased with the property. Of course, she decided to turn it into Chapters and run it as a bed-and-breakfast. Not that she really needed the money, as there was still enough in the trust that had been set up for her use to last through her lifetime. I think she was simply bored.”
“But why send you here if Isabella was no longer working for your agency?”
Ellen stirred uncomfortably in her chair, fixing her gaze on a point over my shoulder. “It was just something that worked out for everyone. I did retire rather young. Not by choice. I’d been injured, you see, during another operation. Quite badly, I’m afraid. I lost my nerve for the game after that, even for a desk job. So the agency offered me a deal—a free house and stipend if I’d move to Beaufort and keep an eye on an important former asset.”
“I think I understand why you agreed, but why did they think Isabella needed to be watched?”
