Page 37 of Apt to be Suspicious
“That won’t be necessary, thank you. I know his family by reputation.” That wasn’t informative at all, though it was a specific and particular wording, the more Pen thought about it. Then Miss Styles turned away saying, “I’ve some work to do.”
It was likely true, and it was also a completely blatant excuse. Pen watched her walk away, still feeling like something was not quite right about how Miss Styles held herself. Nothing Pen could pin down — that was the problem with it.
Vesta came out behind her. “You all right?”
Pen shrugged slightly. “Was that conversation as odd as it sounded? How much did they gossip once I left the room?”
“About what you’d expect. Come along, we can talk about it in Audrey’s room.” Vesta led the way across the quadrangle, cutting through the grass. She continued to delight in that particular Somerville privilege. Five minutes later, they were settled with tea, and Audrey listened to Vesta fill in what she’d seen of the conversation.
There had been gossip. Mostly that Pen had looked far better than she had any right to, with no notice. And that Edmund Carillon never paid anyone that kind of attention.
“He turns up in the society pages of the Moon sometimes.” Audrey tapped her fingers on her knee. “I wasn’t paying attention last winter. You know there always spreads from the Council rites, and whatever other posh parties there are. He’s at those.”
“How did you get talking with him?” Pen wanted to be more forthcoming with her friends. But the evening’s gossip had made her a bit skittish. Also, what could she reasonably say.
She stared at her teacup for a moment. “Crosswords to start. He does them too. We talked about a couple of clues. Then I saw him with someone and asked him about it.”
Pen definitely hadn’t talked about that part. “What someone?” Audrey leaned forward. “A woman?”
“Yes, but not like that. I mean, he calls her Aunt Cammie? Cammie Gates-Clark. I don’t know if you’d know her.” It was nothing near either of their known interests. Both of her friends shook their heads.
“She— I mean.” Pen tried to figure out how to explain this. “She’s got a reputation when it comes to cryptography. Applied maths. An excellent one. The sort of thing I want to go into. I don’t know what she was doing during the war. But I know a couple of people who worked with her early on. Not just someone who follows the set procedures, but someone who can think through new problems. Cheerfully.” Pen’s shoulder twitched. “The cheerful curiosity’s not something you find everywhere, it turns out.”
“And you wanted an introduction?” Audrey cupped her mug in her hands.
“Something like that. It turns out she was with Major Lefton— he’s a don, Oriel.” Pen gave the relevant information automatically. “He’s who I sort of wanted a tutorial with all along, but he hasn’t been taking any for the last two years. And Edmund knows him as well.”
“Edmund, is it now?” Audrey grinned. “Well. I suppose you went to a dance with him. And does Edmund know this Major Lefton?”
“Old family friend, apparently.” Pen set the mug down so she could throw up her hands in mock-despair. “I don’t know what to do with that, only he took them a letter about an idea I had and it’s apparently a decent idea? So something might come of it when they get a minute.” She added, since she’d left that part out. “Magistra Gates-Clark apprenticed with Major Lefton. Formally, I mean. But she didn’t come up to Oxford.”
Audrey considered and then said firmly, “I hope it works out for you, then. Tell us if there’s anything we can do. Dress you for something again. Were they all jealous of your frock? They ought to have been.”
“Yesssss.” Pen drew it out. “I didn’t mean to do that. It makes a bother.”
“That wasn’t why Styles was like that. I saw her coming in last night. She looked gorgeous herself.” Vesta offered it. “Like she’s dressed for some, I don’t know, performance. I keep thinking of the snake goddesses.” Vesta posed, the way the figurines she’d shown Audrey and Pen did. It was something about the arch of the lower back, it made Pen think of ritual. Edmund would know something about that, actually.
It was something she could ask him about that might be a neutral topic. She still wasn’t sure what to do about some of him. For example, that casual reference to a trip to Greece and Italy like it was stepping to Trellech through the portal.
“I’ll keep an ear out.” Audrey said amiably. “All right. You both go away. I’m ready to do my work now.”
Pen snorted and stood to take herself up to her own problem sets. And then, if the timing went right, working on a bit more of the notes she’d started putting together. She wanted to get them in good order before she went back to the library and the newspapers tomorrow.
Chapter 25
Tuesday, May 18th in a different punt, further up the Cherwell
It was not until some days later that Edmund arranged a key step in whatever investigation this was. Now, at least, he was armed with notes from Mama’s research, comments from Anthony about what matters might rise to the attention of the Guard, and various other details. He had not been able to discuss much with Pen— she had been vastly occupied by a paper for her tutor, as well as staring at some mathematical puzzle. He had merely passed along a comment from Uncle Giles that he hoped to have a substantive message in the next week. It had come with his own invitation for her to find a spot where she could listen to a conversation.
Where to have that conversation had proven a little tricky. There were not, when it came down to it, terribly many places two men and a woman could have a suitably private conversation inside. Thomas Phipps, the man in question, was not in Edmund’s college, and besides, Pen could not have listened in that case.
The second problem was that Edmund and Pen had rather conflicting schedules for lectures at 5pm, otherwise a suitable time. They couldn’t go out on the river after hall. No boathouse would let a punt go out at that time. Tuesday was the only day one or the other of them— or both— had free at the right time.
In the end, they’d made arrangements for Pen to be at a particular spot on the Cherwell, and for Edmund and Phipps to take a punt up to that spot. Edmund had scoped it out in advance, using all the skills he’d picked up from listening to his various colleagues during the war. He didn’t like to think of the fates of some of the people they’d talked about.
MI6 had not been as directly responsible for dropping agents into France as the SOE, but they’d sent some, and many of them hadn’t returned. This conversation at least did not suggest that sort of risk. It still needed attention to detail, however.
At any rate, Pen was wearing a frock that blended reasonably with the foliage. She also had one of the paired enchanted pins that would let her hear what was said in the punt, at least at a relatively short distance. Two dozen feet, give or take. Edmund was not entirely sure how much the various plants would affect that.
