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The Daily Detective

JAPAN DECLARES WAR ON BRITAIN AND U.S.

Japan’s long-threatened aggression in the Far East began last night, with air attacks on United States naval bases in the Paciﬁc. Japan has announced a formal declaration of war against both the United States and Great Britain. The naval base of Pearl Harbor on the Hawaiian island of Oahu has been attacked from the air, and overnight we have learned that the island of Hong Kong is also under attack. Turn to page 2 for the full report.

GERMANS BOMB SCHOOL FOR

Battle for Moscow

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To everyone who would have felt at home at Bletchley Park

Bletchley Park

The House Gryphons

Bushes Lake

Hut 1

Hut 3

Hut 11

Hut 11A

CHARACTER LIST

MEMBERS OF THE MINISTRY OF UNLADYLIKE ACTIVITY

May Wong

Fionnuala O’Malley

Eric Schlossbauer

Daisy Wells

George Mukherjee

FRIENDS OF THE MINISTRY

Harold Mukherjee

Alexander Arcady

BLETCHLEY PARK

The House

Maud Sperry

Jean Brown

H ut 6, R oom 3

Colonel Hugo MacNair (hut leader)

Joe Golden

Roly Jericho

Athena Smith-Smythe

Bertie Wells

H ut 8, R oom 4

Llewelyn Huxley

Mateusz Mossakowski

Tekalign Quantrell

Tom Symons

Hazel Wong

Note: everyone from Hut 6 is referred to by their first name, and everyone from Hut 8 is referred to by their surname. Colonel MacNair and Hazel are the only exceptions!

TOP SECRET

From the case ﬁles of the WOE

(Women’s Operation Executive, also known as the Ministry of Unladylike Activity)

January 1942

PART ONE A BOMBSHELL IS DROPPED ON US

From the report of Fionnuala O’Malley, WOE operative, 15th January 1942

It’s hard to know where to start with this report. I guess I should begin with who I am: Fionnuala O’Malley, though you can call me Nuala. But there’s so much to say – about the murders, and the codes, and the secrets – that I can feel myself getting tangled up in the story already. I wrote a lot of stuff down at the time, but when I look back at my diary, I realize how much the Nuala who existed then didn’t know, and how much she missed. We thought we were solving one murder mystery, but it was much more than that.

None of this is going to make sense unless I explain to you that, even though I only turned twelve in September, I’m a spy and a detective. I work for a secret intelligence organization called the Ministry of Unladylike Activity, and I’ve solved two murder mysteries with my best friends, May and Eric.

This one was our third, if you can believe it. And it really is hard to know where to start. It might have all happened at a place called Bletchley Park, but everything’s connected, isn’t it? The whole world’s at war. So maybe the best place to begin is the eighth of December 1941, when the Germans bombed Deepdean.

Before it happened, I suppose I thought that Deepdean was untouchable. Everyone says that nowhere’s safe, not really, but now I can see that I didn’t truly believe that. It’s partly because I was having so much fun there. It all felt . . . not normal, because school still isn’t normal for me. Normal is being backstage in a theatre, or on a train, travelling to a new city with my parents’ theatre company. So Deepdean wasn’t normal, but it was great, all the same. I loved lessons, and I loved bunbreak, and I even loved the pranks between dorms. I loved every day of it.

May, though, didn’t. I don’t think May’s brain suits Deepdean. It makes her cross, and when May gets cross she gets like a bull in a china shop, smashing and yelling and making everything worse. I’ve tried to be a good friend to her after what happened in London last spring. She deserves that. I’ve stuck up for her when the other girls are mean to her, and I’ve tried to help her with prep and so on – which is sometimes a thankless task, because May does not listen to me; she just grits her teeth and does it wrong all over again. But I’ve tried.

It’s harder to help her when our friend Eric isn’t around.

Eric’s the glue between the two of us. He’s by far the nicest member of our Detective Society, and the most patient. Without him, I end up yelling at May, and May yells at me, and everything nice we mean to say to each other gets mixed up and lost.

May spent almost the whole autumn term, before the bomb fell, trying to leave Deepdean. She sent her big sister, Hazel, messages about it in the post every chance she could, telephoned Hazel’s best friend, Daisy, and generally did everything she could to escape. Now, you might think that asking a big sister and her friend for help wouldn’t get you anywhere, but that’s because you don’t know Hazel and Daisy. They’re only twenty years old, but they’re two of the smartest adults I’ve ever met. I’m only explaining all this because this report is top secret – once I’ve finished working on it, it’ll be sealed up for years and years, until we’re all really old – but they’re both spies too, for the British government. They help run the Ministry of Unladylike Activity, the organization that May and Eric and I work for.

Or at least they did, before Hazel was sent away last spring, to a place we weren’t officially supposed to know about.

It was only meant to be for a few months. From the way Hazel and Daisy talked, I assumed that everyone would be back together at the Ministry’s London offices, near the British Museum, by the summer holidays. Except that

didn’t happen. Instead, Daisy’s brother, Bertie, was sent to the same place. None of us were allowed to know what they were doing there, apart from that it was incredibly important.

It wasn’t the same at the Ministry during the summer. Daisy and George were lonely without Hazel – like me and May when we’re without Eric, I guess.

Then May and I went back to Deepdean in September, and Eric went back to Weston, and Hazel was busy, and Daisy was busy, and no one was listening to May – and then it was December, and the bomb dropped.

An actual bomb, not just a figure of speech. It’s weird – now that there’s a war, things that used to be figures of speech have become real.

There we were that afternoon, on the hockey pitch with Miss Freebody, and we saw a plane heading in our direction, buzzing across the fields behind Oakeshott Woods. We all knew from the shape of it that it was German. Eloise Barnes screamed and Della Hopkinson burst into tears, but May (obviously) went running towards it, yelling and shaking her fists. When she’s above ground, nothing scares May Wong.

It passed directly over us, and my stomach turned to water. After London last spring, I’m always waiting for the bomb with my name on it. It doesn’t seem realistic that I’m still alive. Sometimes I worry I might be dead and I haven’t noticed it yet. But the plane kept going, and I thought it was all going to be OK . It was way too early in the day for a

normal raid, so I figured it must have got lost – until we all saw its hatch open and a string of bombs spill out.

Everyone else started screaming then. Mariella Semple lay down on the field and had hysterics. May came running up to me and grabbed hold of me, which I thought was strange. I didn’t think she’d be scared.

‘It’s all right. It’s not like Coventry,’ she said to me, when I looked down at her. Then I got it. Sometimes May can be surprisingly thoughtful.

Actually, the only thing hit was the gym, which was empty at the time. So everyone was fine. The plane really must have been lost and trying to drop its load before it got caught. The ack-ack guns picked it off afterwards, so it didn’t have a chance to hurt anyone. But the bomb did churn up most of the north lawn and flatten part of the Hall.

Games was cancelled, of course. I was pretty cheerful about that, and so was May, for different reasons. ‘Maybe they’ll have to close the school,’ she said happily to me as we waited in the shelter in the basement of House until we got the all-clear. ‘Maybe we can finally go back to London!’

She practically skipped upstairs and into the dining hall for tea.

And that was when we heard the wireless.

From the report of Fionnuala O’Malley

The thing I remember first is the way everyone looked at me and May. All those eyes on us, together. The room had been full of chatter about the bomb – I heard at least three girls in three different forms saying that they’d almost been hit. But they all stopped when they saw us come in, and turned to stare at us. It gave me the shivers, like we’d walked in halfway through a play we didn’t know we were in.

May grabbed my arm and said, ‘What? Why’s everyone looking? Do I have something on my face?’

And then someone turned up the wireless.

‘Japan’s long-threatened aggression in the Far East began last night, with air attacks on United States naval bases in the Pacific. Japan has announced a formal declaration of war against both the United States and Great Britain. The naval base of Pearl Harbor on the Hawaiian island of Oahu has been attacked from the air, and overnight we have learned that the island of Hong Kong is also under attack.’

May clutched harder. I could feel her fingers digging into my skin.

‘Ma Ma,’ she gasped. ‘Teddy. Father! I have to go! I have to – I have to – Hazel! ’

I was shaking. I felt like I might vomit. Hong Kong, where May’s family lived, was under attack. America pulled into the war, and Japan too. I thought about the Company, still in America; about Jim, and Radek, and about Megumi. What if people thought she was part of the attacks because her family are from Japan? I looked at May. What if people here thought she was Japanese? She’s not; she looks nothing like a Japanese person, but most English people, even girls at Deepdean, don’t know the difference.

May wasn’t thinking any of this, as far as I could tell. She was just panicking. Suddenly she turned and ran. She was halfway to Matron’s office and the telephone before I grabbed hold of her.

‘Stop!’ I panted.

‘Shan’t!’ yelled May. ‘Nuala, I have to call Hazel. I have to! Let me go!’

‘She won’t know anything! May, she’s not there!’

‘But Ma Ma is! Teddy is! And we’ve left them – they’re alone! Nuala, I have to go. I’m going to get on a boat, and—’

‘You’re not going to get on a boat!’

‘Don’t tell me what I can’t do!’

In Matron’s office, the telephone rang. There was a click.

‘MAY WONG ! ROSE WONG !’ shouted Matron. ‘IT ’S FOR YOU !’

May can seriously move when she wants to. She already had the receiver in her hand when I got into the room.

‘Nuala, not you!’ said Matron, but I ignored her. She went out into the hallway and shouted at someone to bring Rose.

‘Big Sister,’ May was saying in a wobbly voice. ‘We just heard. I can catch the evening train to London. I can be on a ship tomorrow—’

There was a pause.

‘No,’ said May, her voice rising. ‘Big Sister! No! But you have to – aren’t you going to do anything? What does Father say?’

Her face was turning red and tears were starting in the corners of her eyes.

‘Here,’ I said, and I grabbed the receiver. May shrieked and hit at me, but I’m taller than she is, and I held it out of her reach.

‘Hazel,’ I said. ‘It’s Nuala.’

‘Nuala!’ said Hazel, her voice crackling through the connection. ‘Thank goodness. May won’t listen to me. Is she all right?’

‘Uh,’ I said. I don’t really like lying.

‘Tell her I called to say no heroics, d’you hear me? She has to stay put. Deepdean’s the safest place for her and Rose at the moment.’

‘But there was a bomb here today,’ I said, and then wished I hadn’t.

‘What?’ cried Hazel. ‘May didn’t— What do you mean?’

‘Sure, look, no one got hurt! It was only a little one. I think the plane got lost, but it’s all fine now.’ I was babbling. ‘I’m sorry about – about Hong Kong.’

‘Thank you,’ said Hazel after a pause. I could hear the line crackling even more. Or maybe she was crying.

Rose came running in then. Rose is in the year above me and May (May’s actually a year above where she should be – all the school years went a bit wrong because of the war). Rose is very pretty and always really stylish and well put together, but now she was pale and her pinafore wasn’t buttoned up properly. Her friend Lottie was standing in the doorway, watching the scene anxiously.

‘What’s happened?’ she cried. ‘May? What is it?’

‘Hazel doesn’t CARE about Ma Ma and Teddy!’ shouted May.

I heard Hazel exclaim into the telephone. ‘Give me to Rose,’ she told me, and I did.

‘Hazel!’ said Rose, listening intently, and then she began to cry. ‘No! You can’t get in touch with Father at all? But . . . will they be all right?’

I knew what the answer was, even though I couldn’t hear it. I don’t know. None of us do, about any of it. There aren’t any guarantees any more . . . but – just like me – May and

Rose must have believed that there were still safe places out in the world.

That was the day we all realized that there weren’t.

‘She says we have to stay here,’ Rose told May.

‘I AM NOT STAYING —’ May shouted.

‘She wants to talk to you again,’ said Rose, pushing the receiver back at me.

‘Nuala,’ said Hazel into my ear. I could hear that her voice was thick, her breathing shaky. ‘Remember what I said. Look after her.’

‘Yes, Hazel,’ I said.

May looked at me then.

‘I hate you,’ she said to me. ‘I hate you, and I hate Hazel, and I hate the Japanese. I hate them!’

And, with that, she turned on her heel and ran out of Matron’s office.

From the report of Fionnuala O’Malley

May made it halfway to Oakeshott Woods before one of the Big Girls stopped her and brought her back, shouting and kicking.

‘Traitor,’ May hissed to me, as she was marched back through the hallway of House. She was sent to bed without supper, but of course when I came up afterwards to give her my pudding I found her hanging out of our dorm window, face pink and legs dangling.

‘ HELP me!’ she panted, and although I knew what she was doing was wrong I had to, no matter what Hazel had said.

I’d been feeling so guilty for abandoning her earlier. We’d promised each other – Eric and May and me – that we’d take care of one another, and here was I, failing. I pulled the sheets off my bed and knotted them up, then together we scrambled down the wall of House and ran for it.

We got most of the way down the road towards the train station before we were caught. Matron came wobbling up on a bicycle, bellowing furiously at us that we’d left the window open and broken blackout.

When we came back to House, everyone was filing out of Prep and the hallway was full.

‘Nice try,’ said a Big Girl sneeringly.

‘I don’t know why you’re even bothering running away,’ said a fourth former, Hannah Keene. ‘The Japanese have probably already got your family.’

May let out a roar and lunged towards Hannah, but Matron grabbed her. So, obviously, it was up to me. I was kind of surprised that I didn’t even have to think about it. I raised my hand and slapped Hannah.

It wasn’t like it is in the movies at all: my hand stung, and Hannah and I gaped at each other for a second afterwards, before she began to cry.

I turned, and May and Matron were both staring at me. May looked like I’d just given her a kiss. Matron looked like I was about to be in the worst trouble of my entire life.

May and I were marched back into Matron’s office and made to wait while Matron telephoned furiously. I felt guilty that I didn’t feel guiltier. Hazel, of course, didn’t answer. Then Matron called Daisy. Sure, I was praying she’d pick up. I didn’t want Mam to hear about this. I especially didn’t want May and I to have to go stay with Mam and

Granny in the cottage they share now. But Daisy answered on the third ring.

‘They did what ?’ said Daisy, so loud I could hear her through the receiver.

‘Unacceptable behaviour,’ said Matron sourly. ‘Absolutely not what we expect from Deepdean girls. I’m notifying you first, of course, to see what action you would like to take.’

‘I should like to knock their heads together,’ said Daisy, still loud. She must have known that May and I were listening, I thought. I was mad that Matron was making it sound like we hadn’t been provoked.

‘I shall be taking a report of their behaviour to Miss Barnard tomorrow morning, and I think it highly possible that she’ll ask for them to be removed for the rest of term.’

‘Quite understandable,’ said Daisy.

I think that was when I started to get suspicious. There was something about the way Daisy was talking . . . I can tell when people are acting, that’s the thing, and I was pretty sure Daisy was acting. She couldn’t really be that upset with us, even with Matron’s bad explanation. She breaks the rules all the time, and did even when she was at Deepdean herself. I tried to catch May’s eye, but she was staring straight ahead and wouldn’t look at me.

Daisy finally said something I couldn’t quite hear, and Matron nodded. ‘Yes, quite,’ she said. ‘If Miss Barnard agrees it’s best.’ Then she said goodbye and hung up.

‘What did she say?’ asked May.

‘Quiet, you,’ said Matron. ‘Wells has very generously offered to have you both in London – if, as it seems likely, you will be sent away by Miss Barnard. And she says – what was it? Oh, yes, she says you should await further instructions. Which you certainly will. Now, go up to your dorm room and stay there until I summon you tomorrow morning. No more running away, do you hear?’

‘Yes, Matron,’ we chorused. But as we left her office we turned to look at each other.

Await further instructions?

That sounded . . . like spy business.

And so it was. That was how our mission began. At the time, May and I didn’t know what was about to happen. We didn’t know it would be a mission at all.

Like I said, I kept a diary, but it doesn’t cover everything you need to know. I’ve asked May and Eric to help, and they’ve put in what they can, to fill in the gaps I left – and now that I see their accounts too, I realize that the story only really makes sense when you look at everything that happened to all of us together. Which I guess is like our Detective Society. It only works when we’re all there.

So here are our accounts of what happened. May says it’s a good story because there are lots of dead bodies. Eric says it’s an awful story for the same reason. I think it’s somewhere in between the two.

See what you think.

From the report of May Wong, WOE operative, 10th January 1942

Nuala has asked me and Eric to help write the story of this mission. Some parts I’ve forgotten, and some parts were boring, but one bit I remember clear as clear is what happened on Tuesday the ninth of December. I remember that date because of what had happened on the eighth. The whole of December I can remember, day by day, even though usually I don’t pay attention to dates at all.

Miss Barnard called us into her ofﬁce on Tuesday morning. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t see why we should. I knew we were going to be sent away, and I didn’t want to waste time being shouted at by another grown-up ﬁrst. Anyway, I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong, and it’s boring being asked to pretend about that.

Nuala didn’t want to go either, but I knew it was because she did think she’d done something wrong. She hadn’t, obviously. She’d been wonderful.

Anyway, Miss Barnard told us we’d been very naughty (boring) and we’d have to be punished. I was expecting that. I was hoping we’d ﬁnally be sent away from Deepdean, the way Matron had said to Daisy. But then Miss Barnard said something that I wasn’t expecting.

‘I understand that this is hard for you both,’ she said. ‘The war keeps breaking in on us, doesn’t it? Matron recommended that you be sent away for the rest of the term, and I’m minded to agree with her, but not quite for the reasons she gave me. I think it might do you some good to be away from Deepdean, May. Rose is happy here, but that isn’t the case for you, is it? Go and clear your heads for a few weeks, both of you. And when you’re back in January, I expect you to buck up and show me that you know what it means to be a Deepdean girl.’

I hated that. I hate being told what I should be thinking and feeling, and I didn’t want to be a Deepdean girl. But at least it meant that we were leaving.

We had to go pack our things and be ready to get on the lunchtime train from Deepdean station. We said, ‘Yes, Miss Barnard,’ and, ‘Thank you, Miss Barnard’ (I mumbled that one) and Nuala said, ‘I really am so dreadfully sorry,’ in her poshest, most English accent. ‘Coward,’ I said to her when we were out of the ofﬁce. She blushed.

Matron took us to the station and bought us one-way tickets to London. I hoped we’d never come back. If Rose wasn’t still at Deepdean, I wouldn’t. I saw her once that

morning, after breakfast, and she glared at me. ‘You’re so stupid, May,’ she said. ‘Why do you always have to cause a fuss? We could have been together at least.’

That made me feel bad, and I didn’t want to admit it. So I said, ‘You could have run away with me.’

‘Not everything’s a spy story, May,’ said Rose, then she turned on her heel and marched away up the stairs to where Lottie was waiting for her. Halfway up, she turned and said, ‘Some things you can’t ﬁx.’

That made me so angry I wanted to scream.

Nuala and I stepped onto the platform, a porter wheeling our luggage. The train was already waiting for us, pufﬁng steam, and we hurried towards it, our gas-mask cases bumping against our hips.

As we got to the door, though, a woman in a green coat shoved past me and knocked me ﬂying. I stumbled, my knees scraping on the platform, and as I did I felt something pushed into my left coat pocket. I didn’t react, obviously, because I’ve done the training and I’m good at this being a spy business by now – plus, I was expecting something a bit like that after what Daisy had said on the telephone. Await further instructions? It was absolutely obvious.

I waited until we had boarded and the train had pulled away from the station, then I swallowed down the sick feeling that I always get, snatched Nuala’s book out of her hands and opened it to the page she was reading.

‘Ugh, SUCH a silly book!’ I grumbled, slipping the piece of paper from my pocket into it and shoving it back at Nuala. I didn’t want to say anything out loud that might give the game away. The other two people in the carriage – a military man with a moustache and an old woman with a rose in her hat – didn’t look like spies, but you never know. Nuala and I don’t look like spies, after all, and we are.

I wasn’t sure I could decode the paper myself without being sick on it. I’m not good with trains. So I hoped Nuala would take the hint, and she did. She propped the book up on her knees and bent her head over it, her glasses sliding down her nose as she chewed on her pigtail.

It didn’t take her long. Nuala’s done the training too. I was drumming my ﬁngers on the seat – it’s boring to have to sit still for so long; my body doesn’t like it – and she caught hold of my hand, as though she was trying to stop me wriggling. But her thumb tapped against my palm, and I counted the dots and dashes she made.

B – L – E – T – C – H – L – E – Y.

I sat up. I knew that name. I knew it was where Hazel had been sent, to do important war work. Why did Daisy want us to go there? Were we ﬁnally going to see my big sister?

‘Really?’ I asked.

Nuala nodded.

And that made me remember something.

It’d been months since I’d seen Hazel. She was always too busy. Even in the summer, when we were all in London with the Ministry, she barely even telephoned. I hated it. It reminded me of Father all over again. He never telephoned any more, either.

But, a few weeks ago, I’d got a letter. It was postmarked Newport Pagnell, which I thought was probably a cover once I’d seen where it was on the map, and when I pulled it out of the envelope I saw that it was a fat bundle of papers in Hazel’s handwriting. I had hoped that it was going to be Hazel telling me that she was going to come and get me from school, but it wasn’t. It was long, dull and conversational – the sort of letter that grown-ups write, about the weather and the people they’ve seen and what they had for dinner. She’d begun writing it in June and it went all the way to the end of November – Hazel must have added a few sentences whenever she remembered, which wasn’t often. I’d barely read it. I didn’t care. I was too angry at her for leaving us. And it was the ﬁrst letter Hazel had sent me for months, even though she’d written to Rose twice this term.

I had it in my gas-mask case still, because even though I hated Hazel a bit, she was still my big sister.

But now we were on our way to Bletchley instead of London, on some kind of mission – because why would a woman have dropped a coded message in my pocket if it wasn’t something to do with the Ministry? I pulled

out the bundle and began to leaf through the papers. And suddenly Hazel’s dull letter didn’t seem so dull at all.

12th June

Dear May,

How are you? Missing you and Rose today, and thinking about Deepdean. I don’t seem to be able to get away from it – there are plenty of Old Girls here. I met another one today: A. (I wish I could write her full name here, but you know – the censor wouldn’t let it get through.) She doesn’t work in the same building as me, but we were sitting in the dining room together at lunch and I remembered her. She was a Big Girl when D and I were second-form shrimps – she won the Classics prize and then went up to Oxford. She’s one of those beautiful rich girls with long hair and tiny wrists who most people underestimate. But I’ve been friends with D too long to be able to do that.

A comes out with some astonishing things – she knows so much about the ancient Romans and the horrible things they used to do to each other that you’d think she’d met them. And she pays attention to everything and somehow remembered D and me, even though we were so young when she saw us last.

She and R, a fat jolly little man from her building, have a book club together, and they’re going to let me join. It’s nice to have someone who’s from a familiar

world. We all work so hard here, and I miss having my friends about.

23rd June

B arrived today! So at least I have him here, even if I can’t have D herself. He’s not working with me, though. He’s with A and R, and they got on at once. R went to Weston, a few years ahead of B. I wish I was with them, but I suppose where I am is not bad.

B’s already joined half the societies here, of course – he’s been drafted into the play the drama society is putting on, and he’s even found a sort of orchestra. They’re very bad, May: there’s a man from Ireland who plays the tin whistle and a French woman who plays the trombone, a Polish man with a violin and then B’s going to play his ukulele. He’s told me he’s going to make me watch their performances during our lunch breaks.

15th July

Boating this afternoon – B insisted we row to the island in the middle of the lake (though it’s hardly rowing; the lake is tiny) and have a picnic there, since the weather has been so good. J, a big bear of a man who works with R, B and A, made sandwiches, and they were much nicer than the awful dining-room food. They told me to bring some people from my building, so I asked S – he’s short, with wavy fair hair, like Little Lord Fauntleroy all grown up,

and very charming. He keeps irting with A, but since he’s not the Roman poisoner Locusta she’s not interested. S is an old Weston boy too, and in the play with B, so they spent lunch practising silly scenes together.

Oh, and you can’t cut your hair, May – stop asking.

5th August

Went back to the island with everyone, this time with K, H and Q from my building too. S invited them. S is the same as B – friends with everyone. I’m not sure that K repays his friendship. He’s the Pole with the violin I mentioned, and he’s almost always angry. He’s got blue eyes and fair hair, and he moves so silently that I’m always being surprised by him. I like poor Q – he’s immensely tall and skinny. He’s always convinced that he forgot to turn out the stove in his room, or hand in his work to the right place – but he’s very kind to everyone too.

H I’m less sure about. He’s pale and dark-haired, and he keeps his cards very close to his chest, but I can tell how carefully he pays attention to things. He isn’t as friendly as Q, to people at least – sometimes I think he barely notices that Q exists, even though Q’s glued to his side. (If we were at Deepdean, I’d say Q has a pash on H.)

H has made friends with all the animals here, though – he reminds me of Eric in that respect. There’s a white duck that follows him about. It came to the island, paddling after our boat, and then it sat on H’s knee and ate bits

of his sandwich. S sang it a song, H drew a picture of it, and A made up a horrid little poem about eating it on the spot.

29th August

Still reading the Father Brown mysteries in my moments o – they’re very clever.

13th September

Awful news at work, which I can’t tell you about – all to do with someone I’ll call CM , who’s now in charge of B’s building. He’s dreadful. He leers at all the girls and he’s full of rules, which everyone keeps breaking by mistake. Poor A and R and B are miserable, and J is the worst of all because he thought he was going to – well, I can’t tell you what.

20th September

Still bad. Won’t bother you with it. I hope school is going well.

7th October

Awful mess – B was doing some training last night and almost shot o K’s foot. You’d have found it funny, I think, May, but poor B’s still panicking about it, even though I know he didn’t mean it.

R lent me a mystery novel called Trent’s Last Case, which I think you’d like.

15th October

We went to the pub to let o our feelings about work, which is still dreadful, and A began talking about Livia (another poisoner, May) and Locusta again. H, who’s artistic, did doodles of CM dying in various horrible ways, and gave one to each of us. B’s had CM being shot, which I think was a reference to the training accident. How is school, May? Are you getting along any better?

29th October

I keep meaning to post this to you but I haven’t yet. Long week at work. It’s never-ending. Went to chess club with H, Q and R on Thursday. R was awfully shaken – CM made an example of him at work for something very minor, and he’s on notice. CM threatened to dock R’s pay if he steps out of line again.

B and S are planning the Christmas panto – they think it ought to be Snow White. They want me to be part of it, but CM ’s taken over as director and I hear it’s a nightmare. And, anyway, you know I’m no actor. If D were here, she’d be in it – but she isn’t.

20th November

Work still hard. So tired I imagine that things are moving around when I turn my back on them. I hope school is easier. Everyone seems at odds with each other suddenly. K and

H had a blowout argument. S tried to cheer them up, but I think said the wrong thing about H and Q. Now no one is talking to each other. I think it’s CM making everyone in the other building so depressed – it’s leaking into ours too, even though we don’t work with him.

26th November

I am posting this today, to get it to you before December. I hope I’ll be able to get some time o for Christmas. Father sent me money for your and Rose’s presents. What do you want?

Something’s come up at work – but I can’t talk to you about it, apart from to say I’m worried. There’s something wrong, at least I think there is. Only I’m not sure. I’m just so tired. It’s all a muddle in my head. Sorry, May. This isn’t really what I should be writing to you, is it? I miss you, but I wouldn’t want you here.

From the report of May Wong

I was so busy reading Hazel’s letter that I was only sick once (it was the train’s fault; it went too slow and it was too full). I had to eat Nuala’s sandwiches to get the taste of sick out of my mouth, and Nuala and I argued about that. Actually, I mostly ate the sandwiches so she’d argue with me. Reading Hazel’s letter had made me angry all over again, because Hazel had been having fun without me. It was no good saying she missed me. She should have come to see me, and she could have, if she’d had time to go boating and have picnics.

But I was also curious. Who were these people, and were they something to do with the mission we were being sent to Bletchley for? Why did they all hate CM so much? Did it matter that B – who I worked out was Bertie, Daisy’s brother – had almost shot someone? I had a knot in my stomach about it all, and an even bigger knot about what it would be like to see Hazel again, and