From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 33)

Names can be awfully confusing. The number of people who have known my real name are remarkably few. My recruiter knew it, naturally, but he did not pass this on to the service. He merely stated, I believe, that I was of good character and financially well situated. These two characteristics being non-negotiable. After that he would have listed my most useful skills, ones that caused the service to think that I was a perfect recruit, if an expendable one. Of course, they quickly discovered I was indispensable. I do not blame my recruiter. He made his recommendation based on my father’s assessment of me. That man has never taken the time to get to know me, so it is of no surprise that I was initially so hugely undervalued.

But, on the other hand, I have never used my father’s name to advance my career. It undoubtedly would have put me on a fast track, but I preferred to get by on my own merit, to create my own narrative of self which, in turn, became my various separate and well-worn identities.

Among the upper end of the London set I am known as Lord Milton. I am, although some may find this difficult to believe, an actual Lord by birth, though only a fool would think the Milton part was real. However, as I spend my time being as outwardly pleasant and inconspicuous as possible - and most definitely not a gentleman looking for a wife - others rarely choose to look me up in the ‘stud book’ (Debrett’s Peerage and Baronetage). If anyone does mention it, I usually arrange a little chat with them, to correct any misunderstanding. It’s not watertight, and I admit I may have to do something about creating an entry, but it has not yet come to that. I keep Lord Milton on a tight leash, and he has yet to cause offence, or be caught with someone else’s wife.

Those who frequent the racier parties of London, know me as Michael Rose, a painter of some - but not too much - regard. I am believed to live off wealthy relatives, who I never mention, by agreement, and I am always just a little bit the wrong side of any line that is drawn. This is a particularly tiring character and, accordingly, I use him infrequently (although, I admit, he is a most entertaining character to inhabit for a short period of time).

In the business world I am often Roy Irons, a man of money who knows which fork to use at a dinner engagement. He belongs to all the right clubs and can bore anyone about the subject of cricket for hours on end. His suits are well cut but veer toward the rustic rather than the sharp end of fashion. It is easy enough to tap him for a loan but, it is whispered, he takes his repayment in the secrets of others, or, in certain instances, the most salacious secrets of the debtor themselves.

There have been quite a few names I have gone by, and I am sure there will be more, but these three remain my favourites. Perhaps the most interesting aspect is that I do not think of my name as the one I was born with. I feel much more at home with, and think of myself most of the time as, Fitzroy.

Fitzroy is the name other spies know me by. I also often use it when it comes to assets. My files at HQ are headed Fitzroy. No one, other than Alice, knows where the name came from. She only learned about it because I allowed her to come into contact with a close family connection of mine - and that only happened when she was acting as my executor. That I was not actually dead at the time, though I was believed so, is neither of our faults. Certainly, she has never told anyone about the origins of Fitzroy, and if she has ever guessed my real name, she has never mentioned it. However, she does call me Eric when we are alone, or with her husband.  It is the name my late, beloved mother used with me. As this is my real Christian name, I quite enjoy the change when she addresses me thus. Less so when her husband does it.

Alice’s real name is, of course, Euphemia Stapleford. Born Euphemia St John, she spent a good many years going by the name of Euphemia Martins, so as not to embarrass her noble-born mother when she was working as a servant. It was her ability to slip between not only names but identities - the well brought up noble daughter, the vicar’s overly intelligent daughter and the lowly housemaid - that first brought her to my attention.

Names only matter if they carry meaning with them. A name is more than just a sound. It is a suit of armour that you put on to defend yourself from the world. It is what you choose to let others see of you. It is the whole of whomever you become when you hear it.

Euphemia was obviously far too much of a mouthful to use in the field. I suppose I could have simply called her Martins. But that she was a female was not a problem for me, it was a bonus. As such, I wanted her spy moniker to be something suitably feminine, so that when her files landed on the desks of her superiors, it was unquestionably a female spy had done them proud. I did briefly consider using her brother’s nickname for her, ‘Effie’, but not only is it used in real life (which makes it more likely for true exposure to occur), I had the feeling she would take it amiss. Alice and I have often infuriated one another, but while she may not believe it so, I do generally try not to annoy her.

Anyway, I had, at the time of her becoming an agent, been reading Alice in Wonderland. It’s a well written bit of tosh that makes even my line of work seem sane. A good read of it is most useful in regaining one’s perspective and when one fears the world has slid into total insanity. Until I meet that caterpillar and exchange pipes, I hold that there is hope for the world yet.

Above all, Alice is of a singular syllable and I could shout it out quickly and easily. It also suits her, much better than that monstrosity of a dead great-aunt’s name her mother gave her at birth.

Of course, by the time Hope joined the family business, the value of names had changed yet again. In my younger days you could keep your name from circulating with a little care, now the press is everywhere, and people are far too easily identified. Not only are names bandied about more readily in print than ever before, but they often come with pictures! Secrecy is almost dead. This being the case, one has changed from hiding behind a name, to having one’s name on display, but still hiding one’s occupation behind it.

As a last, frivolous, note. Bertram once asked me if my dog is called Jack after the Union Jack. I told him, in no uncertain terms, he isn’t. I am an army man, not a sailor, and the Union Flag should only ever be referred to as the Union Jack when it is flown on a ship (a fact that most people get wrong).

Jack is called Jack because it is an excellent name for a dog, and it suits his personality well.