With a bright wave, Barin hurried to the ferry filled with people crossing Nassau Bay to jobs at the resorts and homes on Hog Island.
“If you can get your duchess to volunteer at the Infant Welfare Clinic, you’ll see Barin. She does administrative work there when she isn’t at Shangri-La.”
“I’ll see what I can do. At least Wallis is finally taking an interest in her duties.” In a shocking show of selflessness, Wallis had purchased a car for the clinic and helped get supplies in from New York. It’d garnered her good press and given Wallis more to do than sit around Government House worrying about her clothes and plotting to bring down Britain. “Unfortunately, it hasn’t convinced her to give up whatever scheme she’s embroiled in. I’ve watched her all week and I still can’t figure out how she’s sending or receiving the secret letters or what the fuel is really for. There isn’t enough industry in The Bahamas to need that much oil.”
“I still say it’s a way to launder Axel’s German payments for the munitions.”
“Launder.” Amelia stopped dead, forcing a man to step around her. “That’s it, that’s how she’s getting the letters. The New York dry cleaning.”
“I’ll tell Lady Williams-Taylor and she’ll pass it on to the bigwigs. Brace yourself for the storm when the command comes down from on high for those shipments to stop.”
The storm broke when the cable from the Colonial Office arrived a week later putting an end to Wallis’s dry cleaning packages to and from New York.
“They’re doing this to torture us,” Wallis screeched to the Duke. “The country is supposedly in peril but they have time to worry about my blouses.”
“Don’t forget the matter of your title.” The Duke tugged at the gold silk cravat above the collar of his orange polo shirt, looking as if he missed his daytime drinks.
“The title doesn’t mean anything if they keep torturing us like this. People can bow and scrape to the garbageman but he’s still picking up trash. You were a king once. You deserve more and better than this awful place.”
The Duke walked to the brass bar cart and poured a finger of whiskey into a cut crystal glass.
“I told you, not before seven o’clock.” Wallis knocked the glass out of his hand and he stared mournfully at the wasted whiskey soaking into the green carpet. “You’re the Governor-General, not the town drunk. Act like it, show Buckingham Palace what you’re made of, how good you are at commanding; make them take notice of you and your talents so we aren’t stuck here forever.”
“Yes, darling.” The Duke knelt down to mop up the mess with one of the linen napkins.
“We have servants to do that. Mr. Hale!”
The butler entered as the Duke rose. “I spilled my whiskey. Please see to the mess.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I think I’ll see what Phillips is up to; we need to work on that bill about the thing.” The Duke hurried off to find his equerry and escape Wallis’s fury.
Amelia wasn’t so lucky.
“I’ll give Sir Walter a piece of my mind about His Majesty’s orders.” Wallis snapped at Amelia to follow her and the two of them went upstairs to her room. “They treat me like I’m Mata Hari, reading my letters and filling the house with spies. The Americans don’t treat us this way, even the local rag can be better than that. Look at their glowing story about my work with the clinic.” Wallis snatched a copy of the Nassau Daily Tribune off her desk and shoved it at Amelia. It was folded to show the story about Wallis securing canned milk, medicine, and other essentials for the poor mothers of the Out Islands. “They appreciate what I do.”
Which wouldn’t have happened if Amelia hadn’t urged her to do more than sit around and complain about living here, but she didn’t say so.
“Include that article in the letter to Sir Walter. I want him to see we’re more than someone to irritate but people of real significance. Britain needs us for the war effort.”
Wallis’s sudden interest in impressing the Duke’s homeland surprised Amelia. Maybe something had changed or, in typical Wallis fashion, she was hedging her bets. “Do you think Britain will survive?”
“Of course not. Their undefeatable image is all smoke and mirrors, with nothing propping it up. It won’t be long before the whole deck of cards collapse, and I say good riddance. Someday they’ll regret the way they’ve treated me. I’ll see to it.”
A knock ended Wallis’s tirade and Amelia’s chance to ask her about the remark. Wallis, in a stunning transformation, settled herself enough to calmly open the bedroom door, giving no inkling that she’d been in near hysterics over His Majesty’s Government only seconds before.
“This arrived by special courier for you, ma’am. I was told it’s important.” Mr. Hale held out a letter on a silver salver.
Wallis took it, her eyebrows rising in surprise. “That’ll be all, Amelia. I have business to take care of.”
“Is it anything I can help you with?” The Duke was the only one who ever received courier messages, not Wallis.
Wallis shook her head. “Prepare the list of medicines and supplies we need for the clinic from New York. I’d like to get it off before Buck House decides I can’t send anything to civilization for any reason.”
Amelia left as Wallis settled in a wicker chaise to read the letter. Whatever the letter was, Amelia sensed it had nothing
to do with her charities. Robert had told her to trust her instincts. The end of communication between Wallis and New York
had caused someone to risk sending her a note without doing much to conceal it. If Amelia weren’t sailing on the Southern Cross tonight with the Windsors, she’d try and sneak into Wallis’s room while she was gone and get a look at it. However, being
aboard the Southern Cross might reveal more than anything hidden in the shadows of Government House.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“This is a lovely ship. Tell me, what’s that?” Amelia asked one of the Southern Cross sailors coiling rope on the stern deck just beyond where the guests were enjoying cocktails. She pointed to the large antenna on the top of the ship. She knew exactly what it was, a shortwave antenna, but she feigned innocence the same way the sailor pretended not to speak English.
She wandered to the railing along the other side.
Barin approached with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. She and a few women in black dresses with crisp white aprons served food and drinks to the guests and were the only non-Swedish crew members on board. “Don’t let them fool you. They speak English. They’re eavesdropping. There’s no other reason for them to be fiddling with the rope this close to the dinner party.”
“I suspected as much. But so are we, so I suppose turnabout is fair play. Heard anything good yet?”
“No, but if I have to listen to either of the Windsors complain one more time about her title or dry cleaning, I might swim back to Hog Island just to get away from it.”
“I don’t blame you.” Amelia noticed one of the sailors eyeing them. “You’d better get back to work.”
“You too.” She winked then took the tray of food to the guests, who smoked and drank or danced to the music.
Amelia leaned against the railing, enjoying the peace of the ocean. The wake crashing against the side of the boat mingled with the stringed quartet; Wallis’s, the Duke’s, and the other guests’ conversations; and the gentle hum of the yacht’s engine. In the distance, she could just make out the green starboard lights of a cargo vessel traveling through the islands on the way to America or Britain. She could see them from her room sometimes at night, and once in a while one moored at Prince George Dock to take on supplies. The dark water spread out around them, the moonless night allowing the stars to shine overhead. Amelia stared up at them, trying to spot a constellation, when another light caught her attention. A blue aura glowed around the top of the antenna, turning on and off at short intervals.
They’re sending a message.
