From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 52)

I have been reflecting of late on my decision to recruit and train women as agents of the Crown. The secret services have long employed women, but not as the equal to male agents. Rather, they have been recruited as assets, listening to gossip among upper class ladies of various nationalities whose husbands are crucial to government work. Then there are the females who are prepared to seduce others for their country. These women cannot be considered prostitutes as they are not paid for their work. Instead, they feign love and desire with all kinds of belligerent authorities we wish to see undermined (I appreciate I am a fine one to talk here, but my seductions are rare, and the women have all been connected to vile individuals).

When I first met Euphemia, I thought her beautiful, bright and bold. As such, she held an allure for me, but as maid in the house where I was a guest, I would have considered it wrong to pursue her. Not because of her station, but rather because servants often feel that, when advances are made by the upper classes, they have no choice but to accede. Indeed, some hosts are clear that they have no issue with guests taking liberties with their servants. A distinctly primitive and foul attitude.

So, while I was attracted to her, Euphemia was not a woman I would have ever approached. But then I noticed that, although she tried to hide it, her naïve accent was extremely well spoken. She also had little idea of domesticity. She stayed close to the side of another maid, Merry, and aside from a little sweeping, I never saw her to anything especially menial. She was nominally the housekeeper, and extremely young for the position. At first, I did her the disservice of believing she must be Richard’s or Bertram’s mistress. Bertram clearly admired her, but as I came to know him, I understood he was also a man who would never trifle with the affections of servants. But he was badly smitten. It was just as well for him she turned out to be his social superior, and that they could eventually marry. I do believe he would have pined himself into decline over her. I’ve never been entirely sure what Euphemia saw, and still sees, in him. I rather suspect that love was ignited by a combination of his kindness and his sharp intelligence. When it came to the men on offer at the time, the bar was set extremely low.

My attitude towards Euphemia changed when I discovered how intelligent she was. At that point I was in serious danger of falling for her myself. She was unlike any woman I had know. Not only had she struck out for herself in the world which, rather sadly, many women must, but she was especially resilient, a fervent believer in justice, an excellent student of human nature, a puzzle solver (of all kinds) and not in the least bit afraid of the presence of death or, as far as I could tell, anything. In short, she had the most tremendous potential as an agent of the crown - except for the fact that she was female. Bertram, in comparison, was smart enough, but lacking the health and moral flexibility required. I never had any doubt that Euphemia would kill, if she had to. It seemed a crime to let all that talent go to waste. Besides, she was employed in an awful household, and it was all due to her father’s death - something for which I still carry the blame.

I admit only to these pages that I had to suppress a strong impulse to ask her to be my bride. It was my unsuitability, not hers, that prevented me. The lifespan of an agent is often short, given the nature of their work, and frequently away and out of contact. An agent’s thoughts generally revolve around their missions, and they would be unable to discuss such preoccupations with their wife. But, worst of all, any wife or child of an agent could, and in all likelihood, would at some point be held hostage by a foreign agency. I had sworn never to marry when I entered the service, and I was content with this. Then along came Euphemia overturning all my carefully thought out resolves.

So, I did what I thought was right. I utilised her as an asset, and I cast around for a husband that I thought her father would have approved of. That Euphemia had already determined on Bertram, I had initially missed, not least because of her naturally flirtatious nature, which drew men to her like moths to a flame, and her temporary engagement to that butler! However, all these distractions were easily enough dealt with. Euphemia, naturally, had no idea how much I interfered in her life.

Nothing worked out as I expected. This is rare for me. I am far from infallible, but I generally spot the way things are going, even if that runs counter to my initial plans. Not so with Euphemia. Often Bertram, Euphemia and that butler would work together, but it quickly became clear that among them, Euphemia was a natural leader. I imagined, at first, they were simply allowing Euphemia her head, as they were both vying for her attention, but as I taught her to write mission reports, I realised she genuinely led that little group. She never saw herself as the leader, but it was easy to see as an observer.

She only ever once asked for my help at that time. She needed to escape from household where we were both guests. She had been attacked by an unknown guest, but to my shame, I did not realise how serious it was at the time. She related it as if it had been nothing more than a minor scuffle. But, on the whole, she never sought my aid. I showed her more and more spycraft, and she absorbed it easily, more than any full recruit I had ever taught. She also put it into practice, and while she didn’t seek my help, I frequently found myself running after her and her merry group as they got deeper and deeper into hot water. I learned that, should I send them to observe the comings and goings of a house, then they would inevitably inveigle their way into the building as guests, servants or tradesmen. The group constantly strained at my metaphorical leash, and frequently broke loose. Eventually, I had to admit to myself the cause was Euphemia. Either I would have to induct her properly into the service, or I would have to let her go.

Naturally my feelings toward her had changed. I remained deeply fond of her, although I did my very best to hide it, but I looked at her as an espionage prodigy, rather than a potential bride. Somewhere along the way, a friendship, of sorts, formed between us. Neither of us, I believe, understood it, but Euphemia came to see in me, as I had seen in her, as kindred souls. She, however, remained resolutely in love with Bertram. In fact, it was in order to be able to marry him that she agreed to become a full agent of the crown.

By the time she did, I was of sufficient rank, and had enough successful missions behind me, to pull it off. However, I was told, in no uncertain terms, that she was my project and my responsibility. Her naturally headstrong nature made the latter particularly trying. We became colleagues. I remained her superior, but I taught her almost everything I knew (some things were, naturally, unsuitable). I had honestly never dreamed that I would ever find a partner I could work with long term.

With Bertram’s failing health, Euphemia and I worked more and more alone. This was only possible because of the strength of affection between them and their mutual respect. Bertram loathed me for most of his life, but he knew I would do anything and everything to protect his wife. He suspected I had feelings for her, but I saw her as a partner and respected her as such. Some of the moments and conversations we shared, we knew we could have never had with another living soul.

Then she became pregnant. Of course, it was always a possibility, but I suppose I had convinced myself that Bertram’s ill health would render the issue moot. But it didn’t. I was horrified. I saw all her talent, her potential, all the work that lay ahead of her, vanishing into a world of nurseries and school visits. My own mother had died when I was young. The impact on me was profound, and negative. I would never have countenanced Euphemia doing field work while her child was young. I think she knew this. She asked me to be a godfather to the growing malignancy in her belly. I see now that she was trying to strengthen the bonds between us. She knew that alone I would wander into moral ambiguity. I would never betray my country, but the ways in which I could serve it would have become more and more cold hearted.

I agreed, because I did not wish to distress her. Then she asked me, towards the middle of her pregnancy, to train her in analysis. I was delighted to find she had a talent for it. She broke the news to me that she had a plan of working on analysis while the child was young, and as it grew older, she hoped to undertake short missions with me that would not require a lengthy absence from home. Eventually, when the child was old enough, she could return to full time field work. She was very young when she had her child, and I only gave her a plan a fifty-fifty chance of success but, because I did not want to lose her, and I did not want the service to lose her, I agreed to her conditions. Then Hope was born. At her Christening she behaved perfectly until she was handed to the Vicar, whom she smiled at angelically, then copiously wet herself. As I struggled to keep a straight face, I felt I might, just might, not actually hate this child after all.

Then, bearing her work in mind, Euphemia asked me to train young Hope in evasion and observation. She had the sense not to wish that her child would follow her into our world, but we both knew that our enemies might well seek out Hope. She agreed to continue living in the fens, which she hated. Bertram thought she did it for him, but it was for Hope’s safety that she agreed to spend many of her prime years in that forsaken backwater. I also ended up there a fair amount and even Bertram accepted me as family, in time. I became, for him, the kind of relative that many families have, who turns up on high days and holidays, invited because he has nowhere else to go, or who trots up for the weekend when you least expect him, and least want him.

Euphemia was glad to see me, and Hope grew to love me. Although I have neither told either of them that I have come to love Hope as if she was my own. I had no right to do so. Bertram would feel insufferably hurt if I expressed this, but I am allowed to love Hope as a disreputable uncle might do.

Hope proved to be sweet natured, introspective, highly intelligent and naturally observant. Living with parents whose marriage was verbally volatile, both being unhappy in one way or another, although utterly devoted to one another other, Hope often crept away to find peace. When we began to use White Orchards as a discreet meeting place for officials at weekends, instead of taking advantage of meeting some of the most significant minds in the country, Hope was more likely to hide. Her mother had taught her how to behave in public but Hope infinitely preferred a book. She loved our days in the forests where I taught her spycraft. Having to interact with a host of strangers was her idea of a nightmare.

Euphemia has always been able to play the noble lady, but she is also vivacious, flirtatious and witty. She can command a room. Hope was not even prepared to try. I knew she had interesting things to say, that she thought deeply and innovatively on current issues, but while she talked to me freely on just about any topic, she was uninterested in talking to others. Hope is entirely self-contained - a little too much like me in that respect. I worry that, during her formative years, I taught her far too much about making yourself unnoticeable. I wanted her to learn the skill, but I never wanted her to apply it as a lifestyle. Her father thinks she is shy. She isn’t. She’s quietly confident and believes most people to be hideous bores (I cannot contradict her on that). But how much of this is down to how I moulded her young mind? There is no sign of the passion and impulsiveness that both equally endangered the missions of her mother and I, but also gave us the most incredible successes. She does not appear to have her mother’s fire and I would hate to think that was down to me.

Of course, I love them both. Not amorously, but as family. Bertram, I tolerate, as he has come to tolerate me. We share a love of good brandy and a desire to protect the women who are important to us. Euphemia and Hope are alike in rejecting our protection. If nothing else, from my experiment of training the first full agent who is female, have come two extraordinary, indomitable and utterly admirable women. Each of whom are worth a thousand of me.