Page 19 of Wicked Deceptions
He hands me a letter. “Miss Katerina, this just came for you.”
“It’s awfully late for a wire,” Madame says.
I open the wire and read it to myself.
I regret to inform you that Lt. Christopher Barnett was fatally wounded at Cantigny. Stop.
Signed, A Friend. Stop.
Tears well in my eyes.No, this can’t be. He can’t be gone.My stomach turns, and my heart hurts. I feel as if a knife has been inserted and is being turned and turned to make the hole bigger. Madame tries to console me, but I can’t right now. I rush from the table and go straight to my room. Throwing myself on the bed, I sob.
Thoughts of Chris fill my head. I should have returned his letters. I should have gone back on my promise and continued to talk to him, but I didn’t. I did as I was told, and my last memory of him was the morning he left for the war. My heart is shattered. I knew I would never have a life with him because of the choices I made before I met him, but I still wanted him to have a life. I still hung on to the hope that someday the German government would release me, and we would find each other again.
At some point, I must have cried myself to sleep.
The memories fade, and I am brought back to reality. My heart aches for Chris. I am sure the Germans had him killed to teach me a lesson. Well, they will control me no more. They have destroyed me, but this will not be the end. No, from this day forward, a new woman will emerge. This war has taken everything from me. From now on, I will do the taking.
Chapter 9
London, England
November 1917
It’s hard to believe I have been in London now for six months. It’s actually one of the most beautiful cities I’ve ever seen. There is so much history here, but I guess that would be expected for a city close to two thousand years old. The architecture is regal and picturesque, all complemented by the winding River Thames. The city offers so much too, such as theatre, arts, fashion, and education. There are numerous museums, galleries, and libraries. It also hosts the London Underground, one of the few underground railway systems in the world.
It’s a bit ironic how the landscapes of war can change one’s perspective. If we were not in the middle of the Great War, I am sure I would look at this city much differently than I do now. Take the war away, and you see a city rich in the arts with beautiful landscapes and such royalty. But in the backdrop of war, you see destruction and poverty.
I look around me and remember the first German Zeppelin attack as if it were yesterday. It happened not long after I arrived, and I can’t even begin to explain the fear and terror that engulfed me when the German airship appeared sight unseen and dropped its deadly cargo on the darkened streets below. People ran for their lives, and I swear we all thought the world was ending. The papers reported the next day that the police had received a warning of the approaching Zeppelin just a few minutes before it dropped bombs over North London, and none of the searchlights or anti-aircraft guns had engaged the radar. They said it flew so high, it was neither seen nor heard until it was too late.
I shudder at the thought. There is devastation all around me as the Germans firebomb this beautiful city on a daily basis. The large, shadowy, cigar-shaped attackers from the air come in the dark of night. They are silent destroyers, and the destruction that follows them is overwhelming. And yet, through all this chaos and uncertainty, I still see the beauty in this city in which I’m fortunate to live. If I had my way, I would never go back, but I don’t. There will come a day when they will send me somewhere else. I really do not have a place I can call home. Home for me was destroyed when this war started, and it will never be the same.
For now, they have sent me to a place I could call home if the opportunity presented itself, and therefore, I intend to make the best of my time here.
I was lucky enough to find employment with the Admiralty, working as a transcriptionist to the undersecretary of the Royal British Navy, directly under the Lord Admiral himself, Winston Churchill. That was until he retired a couple of months ago. I never had the opportunity to actually meet the man, but it sounds good to say that I worked for him.
To say my job is exciting is an understatement. I may only be a typist, but I am right in the middle of everything. I have transcribed many things, from letters to the front to doctrine that changes where we get our artillery. And even though the things I see and hear are strictly confidential, I love being involved in the war effort. I guess you could say I am helping the cause. Although, I really don’t know what the cause is anymore, but I can say I want this bloody war to end.
I really do love my job most of the time. However, I’m not really thrilled with it at the moment. I am working late, transcribing transfer papers for Mr. Churchill and Arthur Balfour, the new Lord Admiral and my new boss. Adam, my supervisor, asked me to stay and take care of this tonight so he could present the finished product to Mr. Balfour first thing in the morning. I learned early on, you don’t say no to Adam, and you definitely do not say no to Mr. Balfour, especially if you want to keep your job.
It’s really not an issue of working late. I don’t mind it, and I don’t have anyone to go home to, but this building after hours, with everything going on outside, is downright creepy. The building is located in Whitehall. It’s a three-story, U-shaped brick building. Alexander Pope has been known to imply that the architecture of said building is rather dull, lacking the vigor of the baroque style and definitely fading in fashion. I have to say I agree. And it’s not only the building that bothers me but what I might encounter on my walk home. Could tonight be an air raid night or not? Will I have to find the nearest Underground station and hide until the all clear sounds? Every evening is one in the same. Will it ever end?
“Katie, why are you here so late?”
I’m startled by the voice, and when I look up, I see it is Jenny, one of the other transcribers and probably my only friend in London.
“Crikey, Jenny, you startled me!”
“I’m sorry, love, but why are you here so late?”
I shrug. “Balfour needed this first thing in the morning, and Adam asked if I would stay to transcribe and type it up. It’s taking a lot longer than I anticipated.” I look outside and see it is already getting dark. It is not safe to be wandering around the streets of London at night. City officials have created curfews and ordinances that require the streetlights to be dimmed and no light whatsoever to be shined on or near the River Thames.I should not be walking home after dark. I should be home safe in my flat.
“You know there is a curfew?”
“I know, I know. But what was I supposed to do, tell Adam no? Someone had to do it, and I guess that someone was me. And besides, why areyouhere so late?”
She smiles sheepishly. “Well, I had a meeting with Lieutenant James.” She winks and gives me her most devilish grin.
I shake my head. “Of course you did.” Jenny’s idea of a meeting, especially with a very attractive lieutenant, is getting down and dirty in the sheets. I decided it is best to not ask for details, and besides, I really don’t want to know them. For me, love and romance are things of the past. I swear I will never truly love again, so listening to her love story only makes me feel worse. Besides, she is shameless, so if I ask, she will tell me everything.Aaggh.
