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“What did you do?”

“As soldiers—for that is what we were, what we considered ourselves to be—we were responsible for almost every kind of intelligence work, up to and including assassination, if that was what the job required.” She leaned forward again. “You must understand, Miss Dobbs, many of our number also held down jobs; they were teachers, doctors, farmworkers, shop assistants. Children as young as eight or nine, and elders in their eighties all played a part. Intelligence was filtered via British contacts, or through the Netherlands in particular.” She paused, picking a speck of lint from her cuff with perfectly manicured nails. “Our agents hardly slept—they reported on troop movements, they committed acts of sabotage, and they consorted with the enemy, if they had to. They gave their lives so thousands could be spared.”

Maisie nodded, waiting for the words to come with which to frame a question or make a comment. “Such bravery is often forgotten when peace is restored and lives and communities are rebuilt.”

“Those who gave their lives are never forgotten, though. We have, both of us, experienced death in wartime, Miss Dobbs, and I am determined to do all I can to see that it does not happen again. The shadow of The White Lady lingers, ready to be reconstituted and put into service if necessary. My job, at the moment, is to coordinate intelligence from our people around Europe regarding the activities of various groups who threaten a fragile peace—and, of course, I am a lecturer at the College of St. Francis, which is certainly an interesting place to be at the moment.”

“You were at the debate last night.”

“Yes, and what a debacle for Matthias! Poor Matthias—he wants so much to be an instrument of peace, to live by the Prayer of St. Francis, but he is somewhat misguided when it comes to the motivations of certain people.”

“Robson Headley?”

She shook her head. “Headstrong Headley and his lover, the very spoiled Miss Lang.”

“You think they’re dangerous?”

“They are dangerous with their rhetoric, and they are dangerous in who they know and consort with—which is why they came to my attention. But you must realize, Miss Dobbs, that the college was of interest to me not because of some of the people within the establishment, but due to its placement. It’s a good viewing platform for a town of many colleges, and, through academic affiliations, has also given me access to other such places around the country.”

“Do you have any idea who murdered Greville Liddicote?”

“I know he wasn’t universally liked, though he tried his best—and he did very well, in fact, if you look at the college—to overcome past mistakes.” She leaned back in her chair. “Liddicote was a man of contradictions. He was not in favor of the war—we discussed this on several occasions—and he thought there should have been a more concerted effort on the part of our government to bring an end to the conflict; it was so bloody pointless. And at the same time, he was an expert on medieval literature, and he wrote his children’s books. He was drawn to some artistically inclined people who are quite well known, Miss Dobbs, and he wanted recognition. So even though his motivations were true enough, that desire led him to make more than a few errors of judgment—and ultimately, he lied.”

“Who do you think hated him?”

“His secretary, for a start. Miss Rosemary Linden—though we both know that’s not her real name. She would have liked to see him dead.”

“Anyone else?”

“Dunstan Headley—but then Dunstan Headley doesn’t care for many people, especially women. In fact, Headley is something of a woman-hater.”

“A woman-hater?”

“Yes. He hates the idea of women in any position of responsibility. He is so filled with hatred and anger over the death of his eldest son, he doesn’t know how to live with himself. He blamed his first wife for his son enlisting in the army—don’t believe what you might have heard about her dying; she left him for an army officer when their son was young. Apparently the boy joined the army to make his mother