Mischief at Midnight Manor

PART ONE

May, 1937.

What was meant to be a show of grandeur combusts into an inferno of disaster as the Hindenburg explodes above Lakehurst, New Jersey. A mere three weeks later, the much-touted Golden Gate Bridge opens in San Francisco to throngs of amazed onlookers and commuters, who praise the wonders of modern technology.

June, 1937.

A romance turned scandal moves the world’s attention to an abdication of a throne, and an amorous affection, as The Duke of Windsor weds the American divorcee, Wallis Simpson, in the Loire Valley, France.

July, 1937.

The world swivels its attention compass to the news of the disappearance of the famed aviatrix, Amelia Earhart, whose plane mysteriously vanished somewhere over the Pacific Ocean. The public was transfixed by radio reports and bulletins, while every attempt was made to locate the famous flyer and her companion, Fred Noonan, on the ill-fated flight that never landed.

October, 1937.

No official announcements were made, no extravagant searches undertaken, and no pesky pressers were interested in any of the doings of a certain Cecelia Canterbury.

Although considered a member of the posh ‘elite’ society crowd, Cecelia never had much taste for the pomp and ceremony associated with such sanctimonious snobbery. Instead, she preferred life as she directed, one not dictated by the societal norms and expectations of the day.

She had become bored with the stale conversation and ubiquitous gossipy chit-chat that never failed to render her ears muffled to such trivial tattles. Though the same tattles that fell upon her seemingly deaf ears never escaped her mind, no word of them ever passed her lips. Years earlier, life was different. She was different. Gone were the days she spent among those wonderful friends of not so long ago. Such fun they had together! Days driving aimlessly in the countryside, picnics and games along the river, gazing up at a starlit sky with the man…

"Cecelia? Cecelia!” Her aunt Georgina startled her from her daydreams.

“Oh, heavens. Sorry, Aunt Georgie. I was miles away. Now, uh, yes! We should see what we can discover about Miss Earhart’s whereabouts. Right! Count me in! What’s the plan?” Cecelia’s feigned eagerness raised Aunt Georgina’s eyebrows.

“For pity’s sake, Cecilia. Will you ever stop being so flitty and fanciful? Really!” She tsked at Cecilia and turned her attention to the group of ladies she had invited for tea.

“Do you know that not so long ago, this girl…” She indicated Cecilia with a motion of her hand.

“This girl was such a flitty, fanciful thing…always gadding about with her college friends, going Lord knows where, getting up to Lord knows what mischief, and no doubt coming home at the all hours! Really, it’s a wonder that she managed enough attention to graduate Vassar.” Georgina Wyngate nodded her head to her guests in a non-verbal equivalent of ‘Oh, yes, believe me. It’s true.’ Before she turned her attention back to her niece.

“Now, my dear, we were all talking about how best you could assist in the attempt to locate Miss Earhart. And, I seem to recall that you had mentioned that you had a friend who was part of the group in that room. Oh! What do you call it? What was the name of that room that all the girls went to try and sniff out spies and such…what was it…”

“Do you mean Room 40, Aunt?”

“Yes! Room 40! Yes! That’s it! Now, since you have a friend who joined that group,” Georgina went on.

“Auntie, I believe I said that I had a friend who was thinking about it. Nonetheless, it isn’t Room 40 anymore. Or, at least it won’t be for long. And I’m not even sure if h…er…she even joined up.” Cecelia interjected.

“Oh. Well. You must find out. You’re the only one among us who would be suited to…Isn’t Room 40? Whatever do you mean? That’s nonsense! It was the headquarters for a group of girls that fancied themselves spies and such, and who dabbled at trying to intercept messages during the Great War! Perhaps they have some clue, some sort of something or such. Nonetheless, you must go to whatever it is and see what you can find out!”

“Well, ladies, as I have my assignment in the noble effort to locate this lady flyer,” Cecelia rose from her seat. “I shall bid you all good day. As I’m off to pack for a trip to Bletchley Park tomorrow.”

“Bletchley Park?” Came the confused mutterings from the tea-sipping septuagenarians.

“Bletchley Park? Oh, gracious. No, no, Room 40, of course. Where on earth did I get Bletchley Park?” Cecelia smiled, gave a quick wink, and quietly left the room.

***************************

Upstairs, and happy to be relieved of the well-meaning, but misplaced intentions of the ladies below, Cecelia wasted no time in packing her bag for what her aunt’s tea guests thought would be her embarkation upon the search for Amelia Earhart. Cecelia and her aunt knew otherwise, of course.

The dowager Georgina Wyngate (née Canterbury) was her father’s elder sister and the widow of the late Admiral Wyngate, a highly respected officer of the Royal Navy. In the autumn of 1916, both of Cecelia’s parents were killed in a Zeppelin air raid as they were leaving London, en route to their home in Kent. Eight-year-old Cecelia was an only child, and, having no other known living relative at the time of her parents’ death, her care and upbringing were left to the governance of her aunt. Although she had been born into the privileged group often referred to as the Aristocratic Class, as she grew older, she had come to detest the presumption that her ‘class and station’ granted her exemption from the mundane and the inconveniences of the ordinary. While not titled nobility, she, nonetheless, was afforded the social and sometimes political avenues restricted from the commonwealth of the time. This was especially true and became more evident to young Cecelia when her father, James, was recalled into diplomatic service with the U.K. Foreign Office. Following the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, her father’s skills and qualifications were considered of great importance in the attempts to abate the looming threat of what the world would come to know as World War I. The Great War.

In July 1914, Cecilia, her mother, Evelyn – an American Socialite, and her father, James Canterbury, Esquire, had left New York aboard the RMS Mauretania bound for Kent, England, and Waldeshire House, the family estate. For most young children of her age, this would have presented a most traumatic experience. For Cecilia, however, it was an adventure. She was a precocious, willful, and thoughtful child. But most of all, she was curious and thrived in her new surroundings of Waldeshire and all of the peculiarities that seemed to come standard with such English manor houses.

The old adage ‘children should be seen and not heard’ required little effort on her -pause- part. On casual acquaintance, one might have assumed her to be shy and somewhat introverted. She was anything but. When the grown-ups were conversing about serious matters, her ears would perk up and she would listen more intently, knowing that they were talking about something almost secretive. She liked secrets. She observed the nuances of body language and facial expressions and began to realize that sometimes people never had to utter a word to make a point, and that actions truly do speak louder than words.

She was precocious, willful, and dubious of over-reaching and assumptive authority. She balked at the pretentions and pettiness of her so-called class and would prefer to spend her time with the horses and the stable hands rather than practicing her French elocution and needlepoint skills. On occasion, she would use her developing ‘people skills’ to disrupt a whole group of dinner guests with an ‘unexpected’ sneeze during Lord Fitzworthy’s toast, or a giggle at the most inopportune moment. This would inevitably result in her aunt Georgina lapsing into a mild case of child-provoked exhaustion, while, at the same time, delighting the guests by offering them a swift, but short-lived release from the chains of socially acceptable behavior. Their polite chuckles, accompanied by the “Isn’t she just a little darling?” comments would doubtless result in Cecelia’s polite dismissal from the ­­dining table and, after she had given courteous curtsies and impish grins, would return to her quarters pleased with her accomplishment of yet another escape from the dowager and her bemused guests. This proved to her that the smallest of distractions can throw a spanner into the works of even a most meticulously contrived event.

Over the next few years, Cecelia had become acutely aware that her Aunt Georgina was anything but oblivious of her niece’s antics. Her aunt was a woman of such great perspicacity that she found herself hard-pressed to conjure new ways to circumvent Georgina’s keen awareness. Aunt Georgie never punished Cecelia for her trivial misbehaviors, which Cecelia found most confounding and discouraging. Aunt Georgina, on the other hand, found it rather entertaining, but, more importantly, instructional.

In time, Cecelia resigned herself to the fact that she could get nothing past her aunt and that she might as well give up trying. After all, what was the point if she couldn’t even manage to ‘ruffle the feathers’ of the old girl?

As her seventeenth birthday had come and gone, and her eighteenth soon approaching, Cecelia, now known as CeCe by her friends, began wondering why her aunt had not been pestering her about preparing for the inevitable, but dreaded, Debutante Ball at which she would be ‘presented to society’.

“Aunt Georgie?” CeCe blurted as Georgina was absorbed in one of her favorite Agatha Christie novels, The Mysterious Affair at Styles.

“What is it, Cecelia?” Slightly perturbed, Georgina looked up from her book.

“Sorry to bother, Auntie, but I was just wondering…” CeCe hesitated.

“Well, get on with it, Cecelia. What is it?”

“I just wanted to know why you haven’t been pestering me about preparing for my debut. It is getting rather close, isn’t it?” Cecelia’s question came with a discouraging tone.

“Oh, yes. That. I was under the impression that you would disagree most strongly with that prospect. I rather thought you much too self-reliant for such things as presenting yourself to acceptable marriage prospects. Perhaps I was mis…”

“Oh Auntie! You do know me so well. Honestly, I would rather die than have to endure such nonsense. Instead, I. I was thinking about…”

“Studies? College perhaps? I wholeheartedly agree. You are much too intelligent and cunning to endure the life of a Society Wife. You would be bored witless.” Georgina went back to her reading. CeCe, rendered speechless, watched her aunt turn another page in her book.

“Well, don’t just sit there, child. Go and fetch the letter that’s on my writing desk.” Georgina didn’t look up from the page. CeCe complied.

***********

15 October 1925

Dear Mrs. Wyngate:

I am writing in response your enquiry of 7 August 1925 regarding the application for the admission of your niece, Miss Cecelia Canterbury, as a student here at Vassar College. As you may be aware, Vassar is among the four colleges —Wellesley, Smith, and Mount Holyoke —seeking to provide women with opportunities for higher education that would improve the quality of family life and put them on an equal footing with men.

You shall find the appropriate admissions forms and pre-admission academic accreditation exam enclosed with this correspondence. The form and the requisite exam are to be completed by Miss Canterbury and returned at the earliest possible convenience so as to arrive no later than 7 June 1926.

Upon receipt of these documents, I shall make my personal recommendation for Miss Caterbury’s acceptance as a member of the student body of Vassar College for the Academic Year of 1926.

Most Sincerely Yours,

Henry Noble MacCracken

President, Vassar College

Poughkeepsie, New York

***********

In the autumn of 1926, Miss Cecelia Canterbury began her first year at Vassar College, taking on the studies of psychology and sociology. Far from Cecelia’s imagination at the time, were how her courses of study would lead her on a course far beyond and much more perilous than those found in scholarly tomes.

Mischief at Midnight Manor

PART TWO

We pick up on the developing story with Cecelia (CeCe), A.K.A. “Midnight” and her Aunt Georgina entertaining some lady guests for tea in her aunt’s home in October of 1937. The possibility of war is an ever-present cloud looming over the world. The ladies, with the exception of Georgina and CeCe, are absorbed with the notion of discovering the whereabouts of Amelia Earhart. Cecelia and Aunt Georgie’s banter about ‘Room 40’ had been a ruse to cleverly convey to her aunt that Cecelia understands that her mission was not to find the missing Earhart, but to investigate some scuttlebutt circulating among certain circles as to the replacement of ‘Room 40’, the retired headquarters of the code breaking operations during The Great War.

CeCe’s real goal is to gather more information on intel that her aunt had ‘picked up on’. Aunt Georgie, being the widow of a high-ranking and much decorated admiral with the Royal Navy, still had her “sources” which dangle little morsels of info her way every now and again. And, sure as scuttlebutt, the following year, in May of 1938, Admiral Sir Hugh Sinclair, head of the Secret Intelligence Service (now MI6) would buy an estate located in Bletchley, Milton Keynes (Buckinghamshire) for ‘use in the event of war’. Aunt Georgie knows that even the tiniest tidbit of information could be of great importance to the Allies’ efforts to damage the Axis powers and their progress, and Cecelia was ideally suited to pursue this information further.

But we are getting a little ahead in our story.

*******

October 4th, 1937. The morning after the tea.

Cecelia leaves Waldeshire House and takes the train to London to seek out her dear friend, Kapitan Jacek, a brilliant Polish engineer, and avid yachtsman. CeCe and Jacek had met at the Stork Club in Manhattan, when CeCe and her best friend from Vassar, Meara Jane A.K.A. “Miraj” had gone to celebrate the opening of the ritzy new club. After their initial meeting, CeCe and Jacek had grown very close, spending as much time as they could together. At the same time, Miraj had tried her best to outmaneuver a rakish Irish lad, Tiobóid, who pursued her relentlessly.

On the train, CeCe reflects on these and her other friends and acquaintances and how the years had gone by so quickly since she’d last seen most of them. She smiles with fond memories of how she and Meara Jane would conjure ways to sneak out of Cushing House, their housing accommodation at Vassar College, without being noticed by the Dormitory Mistress, Mrs. Pendleton. They had developed such failsafe methods that they were able to disappear from the time of ‘lights out and quiet’ at 9:00 pm until just before the last cursory dormitory bedroom check by ‘Persnickety Pendleton’ at precisely midnight. Meara Jane was particularly adept at smoke screening techniques and avoidance maneuvers (she had had a lot of practice when it came to that pesky Irish lad). She was as good as a real Mirage when it came to diverting attention. Thus, Meara Jane became ‘Miraj’, and CeCe was just so…how to put it? Quiet, romantic, mysterious, kind of like the silent glow of a moonlit sky at midnight. Plus, she had this natural affectation of always coming in at the 11th hour, sometimes with seconds to spare! Thus, it was there, among books and whispered secrets, that the woman the world would come to know as ‘Midnight Canterbury’ was born. She and Miraj still kept in touch and would plan little get-togethers whenever they could. It wasn’t as often as they would have liked, but they still managed to carve out a bit of time every couple of years or so.

Over the years, as her other friends pursued careers, families, and the like, CeCe had lost touch with most of them. She and Jacek, however, had grown quite close. There was a special bond between them. They trusted each other implicitly and shared many happy moments on those rare occasions that found them in the same place at the same time. On one such occasion in 1931, CeCe had told Jacek that, if he ever needed a calm, quiet place to drop anchor, he was always welcome at Midnight Manor, the estate CeCe had inherited after the death of her parents in 1916. The bequeathment of the manor and its contents had been fulfilled on her 21st birthday in 1929, and, despite the ravages of The Great Depression, the estate and all of its endowments were left unscathed and isolated, rendering it the ideal escape from the harshness of a tumultuous world.

Jacek had taken her up on her offer and, after many a seafaring journey, would find himself comfortably ensconced in the peace and solitude of Midnight Manor. Sometimes CeCe was there. Sometimes she wasn’t. Nonetheless, they had agreed that it had become a place of tranquility, a place where they could relax and enjoy long conversations or equally long moments of blissful silence. It was a place, though known to some, was visited by few. It was their sanctuary and they came and went as they pleased.

***********

The rhythmic clacking of the wheels groaned to a rusty squeal, and the air-pop belch of the steam brakes announced the train’s arrival at King's Cross Station.

Now in London, CeCe set upon contacting Jacek to discuss the little intel she had gleaned from her aunt. She is curious as to whether it had something to do with the work of the Polish Cipher Bureau. Between the First and Second World Wars, a trio of brilliant Polish cryptologists created various systems to help with the decipherment of Enigma transmissions sent by the German army. Although not part of the threesome directly, Jacek was certainly ‘in the know’ and had close ties with the trio through his connection with AVA, a Polish electronics firm founded in Warsaw, Poland.

After making contact and meeting in London, CeCe and Jacek had agreed it best not to discuss such matters in London, where any of their conversations and activities might be overheard or monitored, so they decided to rendezvous at Midnight Manor. For the next couple of weeks, they spent their time gaining and sharing as much information as possible. Jacek had confirmed that yes, the rumors about the mansion in Bletchley were much more than idle gossip and that plans were in place to set up the new Government Code and Cypher Center (GC&CS) sometime in the spring of the following year, 1938. Bletchley, located between Oxford and Cambridge and easily accessible by rail to London, Birmingham, Manchester, Liverpool, Glasgow, and Edinburgh, made it the perfect location to set up the code-breaking center. Jacek also informed CeCe that he had it on good authority that it was suspected that a mole had been put in place to infiltrate the cypher school before it became operational. CeCe had an uncanny feeling that her train schedule might involve a stop near Bletchley, Milton Keynes in the not so distant future.

November 8th, 1937.

CeCe and Jacek learned of The Hossbach Memorandum, which summarized a meeting in Berlin just three days earlier. The meeting was attended by German dictator Adolf Hitler and his military and foreign policy leadership, in which Hitler outlined his expansionist policies. Hitler's foreign policies were becoming radicalized. The memorandum demonstrated an intention to add Austria, Czechoslovakia, and Poland to the Reich.

Jacek left soon after this news, leaving CeCe on her own. By mid-December, she had grown restless and, with everything she and Jacek had discussed, more and more jittery about the state of affairs. After Jacek’s departure, she felt a bit less at ease being alone at Midnight Manor. Perhaps it was due to the lack of his company, or maybe it was the realization that she might be getting a little too close to some very hot fire. Of course, she had Mr. Willikers, her faithful and most trusted butler, chauffeur, and, when required, bodyguard, upon whom she could rely without question. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that she had no one with whom to volley ideas, no one to call her in check when her imagination ran amok, no one with whom to rattle the old ‘think box”. Jacek was gone to God only knew where. She hadn’t spoken with Miraj in over six months, so Heaven only knew what she was up to. She had only just left Waldeshire in October, but, suddenly for the first time in her life, she felt utterly alone.

CeCe’s brooding thoughts came together in a flash of clarity when Mr. Willikers suggested that tea would be served “momentarily in the pool cabana” and that the month-old edition of The Royer Recorder had just been delivered by air post.

“I thought you might need a bit of levity this afternoon, Miss. So, I have taken the liberty to turn the paper to The Star Review, your favorite column, by your friend Miss Ame…er Jasmine, I seem to recall that her columns always tend to give you a good chuckle. Will there be anything else, Mum?” Willikers stood for a good while, awaiting her response and dismissal.

“Willikers! You’re an absolute genius! A real brain-box!” CeCe squealed, as the jumped up, grasped his shoulders and planted a punctuated kiss smack in the middle of his forehead.

“Very good, Mum.” The corners of Mr. Willikers' mouth rose slightly as he gave a small nod of his head, turned, and left Miss CeCe to further jubilate, (for what he did not know), over her tea and newspaper column.

That was IT! Amelia! It all started with the missing Amelia Earhart! CeCe’s aunt hadn’t wanted her to go galivanting around looking for clues as the ill-fated flyer’s disappearance, she wanted her to go in search of Amelia Bryan, CeCe’s friend and confidant she had met while at Vassar! Amelia, her friend, not the flyer, wrote a column called The Star Gazer under the pseudonym ‘Jasmine Jessop’. At the end of each weekly column, Jasmine Jessop also included a little word game called Jasmine’s Jumble, a bunch of mixed-up letters that were an anagram for a quote or phrase that actually made sense. For those in the know, when asked “have you solved the weekly jumble?” it really was code for “Did you read about such-and-such, and so-and-so in “The Star Gazer” this week?” For those who knew much more than the ‘in the know’ crowd knew, her weekly jumble could be used as a simple code of instructions or messages between members of certain groups, all spelled out, right there in plain sight.

To this day, Aunt Georgina’s cleverness still amazed CeCe. What Auntie Georgie had really meant for CeCe to do was go talk to her friends who have some connections, and who have some sort of ‘dirt’ to dig up. That was what Auntie had meant when she referenced CeCe’s college days!

“This girl was such a flitty, fanciful thing…always gadding about with her college friends, going Lord knows where, getting up to Lord knows what mischief, and no doubt coming home at the all hours! Really, it’s a wonder that she managed enough attention to graduate Vassar.”

Her aunt’s reference to ‘Room 40’ was an indication that Georgina knew something was amiss with the geopolitics that were being played out and that at least one of her friends or acquaintances had something to do with, or knew something about, any sneaky or nefarious activities that might be in the works. That’s what all the ackamarackus was about Earhart, Vassar, gadding about with friends, getting up to mischief! It was all a CODE. Simply decoded, her aunt had stated it most clearly. “There’s a rat, and you’re the clever cat!”

Decidedly, she was going to make no real progress in her further queries sitting around at Midnight Manor. She placed her “tea,” cleverly disguised as what she termed a ‘Midnight Mimosa,’ on the table and scurried to catch up with retreating Mr. Brown.

“Mr. Willikers! Mr. Willikers!” She cried after him.

“Yes, Miss Cecelia?” Mr. Willikers stopped and turned toward her. What may I do for you?” He questioned, unruffled by her excitation.

“Willikers.” She caught her breath. “Would you be so good as to look into booking passage for me from here back to London? The best and fastest route. I’m off for a visit to Aunt Georgie!” Her usual cool demeanor fell to the weakness of girlish giddiness.

“Yes, Miss Cecelia. For what day shall I book?”

“Try for the day after tomorrow. I know it’s a bit short notice…” Cecelia hesitated. “But…YES! Make it the day after tomorrow if you please.” CeCe thanked him and bounded off to pack. Halfway to her bedroom she stopped, turned back and shouted.

“Don’t forget to call Aunt Georgie too! Tell her I’m coming for Christmas!

**********

As CeCe disembarked at Portsmouth, she was greeted by a set of arms waving wildly about, clearly under the control of a young woman who was either having an attack of some sort or it was her overly exuberant friend, Miraj.

“Midnight!” Miraj squealed and flew at CeCe, embracing her in a way that could only be described as a rugby-like ‘scrum’, that nearly toppled the both of them off the ramp.

“E-Gad, Miraj!” CeCe righted herself and adjusted her hat. “What on earth has gotten over you? Gee Willikers! You’d think we hadn’t seen each other for years!”

“Well, it seems like years anyway!” Miraj put her arm through CeCe’s, led them down the ramp, across the dock, and towards the gleaming, new 1938 Duesenberg where Thomas, Aunt Georgie’s chauffeur waited.

“Hello Thomas!” They greeted him in unison.

“Clearly, your Auntie knows you’re coming. I thought you might have wanted to surprise her.” Miraj cajoled as they slid into the seat of the car.

“My dear Miraj. How many times must I have told you that it is quite literally impossible to surprise my aunt. Heaven knows I’d given it the best years of my youth!” CeCe retorted with a wry smile.

“Well, you might have at least given her the chance to ACT surprise. It would be a delicious new challenge for her.” The two of them giggled at the thought.

Midnight and Miraj chit-chatted all the way to Waldeshire, and after having arrived, they had covered almost all topics one could cover without coming to any conclusions or making complete sentences out of any of it.

*********

December, 1937. Waldeshire House, Kent, England.

As always, Christmas time had been blissfully peaceful at Waldeshire House. The weather had been cold, and the usual cloudy skies and frosty landscape had been not a surprise nor a disappointment. CeCe could want nothing more than to bustle in from the chill of the outdoors to settle in front of a blazing fire and while away the time slipping back into the ‘sisterhood’ of her days at Vassar with Miraj. The two would spend hours reminiscing of those days not so far in the past.

“Do you remember that day when we put a mouse in Mrs. Pendleton’s dresser drawer?” CeCe poked at Miraj.

“I do indeed! One of my best diversions ever!” Miraj said proudly, dipping a grateful ‘stage bow’.

“Gadzooks! What we got up to back then!” CeCe said wistfully, her eyes focusing on the crackling embers as the flames licked in diminishing protest.

“Hey! Don’t look so glum, chum!” Miraj leaned into CeCe’s shoulder with a gentle nudge.

“Hey! Speaking of chum…whatever happened to that Irish fellow…what was his name? Chumley, Chum, chumb, chump—some-thing-or-other.” CeCe snapped back to attention.

“You mean Chubby? Tiobóid?” Miraj corrected.

“Yes! The charming Irish fellow! Did you ever manage to finally give him the slip?” CeCe tossed another log into the fire.

“I think it was the other way 'round.” Miraj said quietly.

“Hip-hip hooray! To Miraj’s greatest mirage ever! You’ve banished the lad at last!” CeCe raised her glass towards her friend. Miraj returned the toast with a deflated smile and a sad shake of her head.

“Ok. Spill it. What happened? Don’t look so forlorn. I would’ve expected you’d be dancing a proper jig with that news!” Midnight chided.

“Well, you’d think I would. Even I thought I would. But…” Miraj broke off.

“But what?!” CeCe prodded.

“But. Well, you know, after we graduated Vassar and Mum went back to Ireland…” Miraj hesitated.

“Yes?”

“Well, as you know, I spent a few years in the States trying to become the next Ida Tarbell and all. I was pretty darned good too. Do you know that one of my articles was going to be...”

“Don’t change the subject, oh mistress of smokescreens! Back to the Irish guy!”

“Okay. Okay. Well, my mum came down with a terrible case of the flu. They were afraid it might turn into pneumonia or worse. So, I went back. She’s better, by the way, but you already knew that.”

“Yes, I heard. How is she now? Better, I hope?”

“Yes, she’s much better now, took a bit, but she’s much better.”

“Well, anyhow,” Miraj continued. “I hadn’t seen Tiobóid for a couple of years and I had no clue as to his whereabouts when I left for Ireland. I must admit, I was a bit sad about that. I really did like him you know.” Miraj’s throat caught.

“I know you did, Mir.” CeCe touched her friend’s shoulder in a reassuring gesture.

“Well,” Miraj cleared her throat and wiped at a tear forming in her eye. “Well, I was a little more than a bit sad about that. I think I really was in love with him.”

CeCe waited for her friend to continue.

“You know what’s funny about the whole thing? That two Irish people, from the same County Clare, from the same homeland, meet each other half a world away, one chases the other relentlessly while the other plays hard to get and tries every which way to avoid the other. They lose track of one another until, lo and behold! One day, they meet by chance, in Ireland, in the same homeland, in a town in the same County Clare. And he says to her:

“Ah, there’s me fair lass! But ‘tis not for me the rainbow I’ve been chasin’, for that pot o’ gold tis meant for another more worthy than I. Mo Anam Cara, Meara Jane.”

“And he touches my face. And he walks away.” Miraj’s voice cracks on the words as she bats the tears from her eyes, and silence falls between them.

“Enough silliness! So much for the luck o’ the Irish, eh? So, no. I haven’t seen him since. Now. What about you? Missy Midnight? Whatever happened to YOUR captivating captain? Your scrumptious, swashbuckling sailor! Hmm?” Miraj proceeded to top-up their champagne, sniffling as she did so.

“First of all, my dear friend, he is not mine! He is, truly, very dear to me, but he certainly isn’t mine as you say. Like me, sadly, he’s a free spirit...but, of course, we still correspond and see one another on occasion. When the spirit moves us, or the wind is blowing in the right direction.” Midnight answered flatly.

“Two ships just passing in the night, is it? Hmm. I wonder…” Miraj had that mischievous look in her eye.

“Oh, do stop, Miraj. Really! Now, since you are so adept at changing the subject, let’s change it, shall we?”

“Oh, SCHULTZ! We’re out of champagne!” Miraj blurted as she tipped the bottle upside down.

They both looked at each other, the empty bottle hanging from Miraj’s hand.

“Shultzie’s Place!” They roared together in laughter.

Retiring the spent bottle and popping the cork on another, they spent the next few hours sharing remembered stories of the past.

“Remember when we first found Schultzie’s?

“It was quite by accident.”

“Oh no, it wasn’t, and you know it!”

“Remember her guy they called Mighty?”

“What about Gypsy, and Squirrel?”

“I wonder what ever became of Sparky. What a character!”

“And Rosie? Hmm.”

Yes, and what about that girl...the one from Wellesley. You know…oh…what’s her name?”

Their memories flooded back and their chatter challenged the time until the clock had struck well past midnight.

*************

Knowing the two chatterboxes would be in no state to join her for breakfast, Georgina Wyngate had Mrs. Burnaby prepare ‘Elevenses’ for them instead. Aunt Georgie was in the conservatory, absorbed in another of her mystery novels, when the young women eventually came to join her.

“Ah, there you are, girls. Happy Christmas! Did you have a nice lie in?” Asked Georgina, peering up from the pages of her book.

“Mmm.” They both mumbled, confirming the effects of too many bubbles and not enough sleep.

“Mmmm, indeed.” Said Georgina, a knowing look in here eye. “Well, don’t forget we’ve been invited to Boxing Day luncheon at Dartmouth Lodge tomorrow after the hunt, so you’ll have all day today to clear the cobwebs.” Georgina returned to her reading.

“HUNT?! Oh, Gracious NO! Those poor little foxes! I simply...”

“Pheasant, dear. Pheasant.” Georgina interrupted Miraj’s outburst.

“Oh, Miraj old bean, don’t get your knickers all a-bunch. Besides…pheasant! Mmmmmm!.” CeCe licked her lips salaciously, causing Aunt Georgie to stifle a grunt and her friend to roll her eyes.

************

February, 1938. St. Moritz, Switzerland

At the gracious invitation of the Duke and Duchess of Dartmouth, Cecelia and Meara Jane were enjoying a mid-winter ski holiday with the Duke and Duchess and their daughter, Charlotte, in St. Mortiz. CeCe was particularly delighted to have seen their daughter, Charlotte, at the Boxing Day luncheon. Charlotte was a good school chum before Cecelia had gone to Vassar, and they too, had much catching up do to. Charlotte was responsible for Cecelia’s being called CeCe, while CeCe returned the favor by calling Charlotte, ‘Duch-ette’ or, simply ‘Dutch’, in deference to Charlotte’s mother, The Duchess. Even though Charlotte had married several years ago to a Captain in the R.A.F., and thereby became ‘Lady Charlotte’, she was always ‘Dutch’ to CeCe. And so, the three of them were luxuriating in the spectacular Swiss Alps on a holiday courtesy of Dutch’s parents.

After hosting the 1928 Winter Olympics, St. Moritz had become a favorite for the more affluent winter sports enthusiasts. Now, ten years later, St. Moritz was in the spotlight again with two more claims to fame. The first was the European Figure Skating Championships, and the second was the opening of one of the first ski lifts in the world. Now, even those who had no proclivity to the winter sport had traveled to the Swiss ski resort if only to say that they had been towed up the mountain with the ski lift. So, apparently, with all the to-do and goings-on, St. Moritz had become somewhat of a haven for those who were wont to rub some shoulders.

On their last day in St. Moritz, Midnight, Miraj and Dutch were enjoying a beautiful, sunny, Alpine day, sipping Schnapps and hot cocoa around the outdoor firepit lounge while taking in the ‘scenery’, an activity also known as people watching.

“What ho, CeCe! Is that who I think it is?” Dutch handed the binoculars over.

CeCe obliged, and took a look through the lenses. “I’m not sure. Who do YOU think it is?” She passed the spying glass over to Miraj.

Miraj peered through. “Gee Willikers, girls. I don’t know who you think you’re looking at but I see Esmeralda! You know, the name of that girl from Wellesley we couldn’t think of the other night?”

Midnight yanked the binoculars away and peered through again. “Yes! It IS Esmeralda. Zoiks! She doesn’t look anything like I remember. She looks so. so…nervous...”

“Who’s nervous!” Dutch swiped the spectacles away from CeCe. “No, doesn’t look nervous. Looks rather confident to me.”

“Gimme those!” Miraj grabbed the binoculars. “Well, that’s Esmeralda all right. Yeah, she does look a bit nervy, but who’s that fella back behind her? The one scribbling in a little book.” Miraj commented, scanning past the woman.

“Let me see!” Midnight grabbed the binoculars back from Miraj. “Hey! It’s that guy! I remember seeing him at Shultzie’s Place. He’s into insurance or something. We met him a couple of times. Oh, what’s his name! He was always chatting up Squirrel! Don’t you remember? Now he’s chatting up a blonde woman and handing her whatever he was scribbling!” Midnight handed the binoculars back Miraj.

“Hey! That’s Snowball! How could you forget Snowball! I don’t think we ever knew his real name. But everyone at Shultzie’s called him Snowball because he was always talking about skiing in Vermont!”

“Who’s Shultizie?” Dutch demanded. “And why on earth do you think he has an interest in squirrels? He’s been in all the papers! Not conferring with, with the wildlife? Or making snowballs? Gad! You’ve both gone off your heads!” Dutch huffed.

Miraj and Midnight looked at Dutch. “Well, who were YOU looking at?” They both queried.

“Ugh! Felix Kaspar, the skater from Austria, of course! He won first place at the European Figure Skating Championship just last month!”

As Miraj and Dutch went off on a tangent of the performances of the skating championship, CeCe’s mind focused on Auntie’s contention ‘there is no such thing as a coincidence’. So, was it a coincidence that she and Miraj had been recollecting friends and acquaintances from their past only a couple of weeks ago? A coincidence that Tiobóid had suddenly stopped pursuing Miraj and disappeared into thin air? A coincidence that Dutch had been at her parents’ post-hunt luncheon without her husband, the pilot? A coincidence that Mr. Brown had made it a point to purposefully mention The Star Gazer column and its writer? And why did he use Amelia’s real name instead of her pen-name ‘Jasmine Jessop’? A coincidence that Snowball was there, scribbling notes and handing them off to some blonde woman? A coincidence that Esmeralda, the quiet and shy young Wellesley student they once knew, was now a clearly nervous woman standing in a ski lift line in St. Moritz? All just by happenstance? Furthermore, why had CeCe received such an odd telegram message at the front desk of their chalet just that morning:

‘La montre sera prête le 14 février. Prise en charge à 16h00. Avenue De-Budé, Geneve’

‘The watch will be ready the 14th of February. Pick it up at 16:00. Avenue De-Budé, Geneva’

February 10th 1938.

On their last day in St. Moritz, the three decided that life was too short to dawdle away another opportunity to re-ignite friendships. After some deliberations and minor disagreements, they had all come to the conclusion that their next meeting was to be held at CeCe’s place. Midnight Manor. The lush, tropical surroundings and the fact that they could actually swim outdoors without fear of ‘catching their death’ was one of the deciding factors. Another was that Midnight Manor held such a mystique to it. After all, neither Miraj nor Dutch had ever been there before and thought that it was about time they pay a visit. The third factor was that, out of the three of them, CeCe Midnight was the only one who had not yet reached the age of thirty, and that they should throw a real blowout…a real humdinger of a party to celebrate her birthday in November.

“First of all, I think a party is a smashing idea, and I’m not even opposed to hosting it at the Manor. Second, you’re both right. We shouldn’t wait so long to gather with friends. Third, it is true that I have not yet reached ‘that age’. And, when I do reach that age, it certainly will not. I repeat, will not. Be broadcast! In fact, I plan on staying the age that I am forever. Why not? I’m perfectly happy with it, and besides, my addition and multiplication tables seem to have slipped my feeble mind!”

“What? What are you on about?” Dutch squeaked.

“Get a hold of yourself, Dutch. She simply means that she doesn’t want a birthday party!” Miraj interpreted.

“Miraj is exactly right, Dutch. I’m all in, with the exception that this blowout will have absolutely nothing to do with candles, meaning nothing to blow out!”

On the morning of February 12th, CeCe, Miraj, and Dutch said their goodbyes at the St. Moritz Train Station. Miraj was on her way to Kilkee to spend a little more time with her mother before going back to the States, and Dutch was off to London to go back to her charming R.A.F. pilot, William. CeCe had told them that she was going to stay on in Switzerland for a little while, but she promised to stay in close touch with both of them. She watched as they boarded the train to Paris, then turned and walked down the platform to catch the train bound for Geneva to collect a watch on the Avenue De-Budé at 4 o’clock on the evening of Tuesday, the 14th of February. Was this to be a special Valentine’s Day meeting with Jacek?

***********

13th February. 1938. Geneva, Switzerland.

CeCe was seated in the dining room of the Hotel Château Girard, having breakfast. The headlines in the newspaper at her table read: “Austrian Chancellor, Kurt Schuschnigg meets with Hitler”. Reading further into the article, CeCe learns that on the previous day, February 12th, Hitler had given the Chancellor a set of demands, which included the handing over of power to the Nazis, and ultimately resulted in the forced appointment of Arthur Seyss-Inquart as minister of the interior and security.

14th February. 1938.

CeCe arrived at Avenue De-Budé promptly at 4:00 P.M. A sign on a little shop on the corner read

Boule de Neige ~ Réparation d’horloges et de montres

Snowball ~ Clock and Watch Repair

As CeCe entered the shop, the jingling of a bell alerted the woman behind the counter.

“ Bonjour, comment puis-je vous aider?" The blonde woman whom she had seen in St. Mortiz accepting a note from Snowball turned to her.

“Honey? Honey Bobwhite?!” CeCe exclaimed.

“Midnight? Midnight! Is that really you? I can’t believe it! Why are you here in Geneva?” Honey bubbled as she came around the counter to give Midnight a hug.

‘Yes, Honey. Yes, it really is me. I’m just here on a ski holiday. What are YOU doing here? It certainly is a long way from Shultzie’s Place in Chicago!” CeCe questioned casually, not wanting to give away the fact that she recognized Honey Bobwhite as the woman to whom Snowball had passed the note in St. Moritz.

“Oh, oh that. Well, I just kind of got tired of that and figured I needed a change of atmosphere. Besides, after Prohibition, cocktail waitresses were a dime a dozen. Then, I met a cute ski instructor and now I’m here!” Honey bubbled.

“That’s wonderful, Honey. Well, you look as though the change suits you. And it’s so good to see you again! Do you plan on coming back to the States or is Switzerland your new home?” CeCe asked casually, in an attempt to determine why Honey Bobwhite had made up this bunch of ackamarackus.

“Oh, well…I’m not sure. Maybe. Time will tell.” Honey’s tone had changed from exuberant to mildly sheepish.

“Oh, dear! Speaking of time! I came by to collect a watch for a friend. It was supposed to be under my name. You remember, Cecelia Canterbury.”

“Oh, yes. Of course! But a fellow came in just a little while ago, and he collected the watch. He said he’d be in touch with you later at the hotel you’re staying, and that I should give you the message. I’m so sorry. If only I had known…” Honey honestly did look apologetic.

“Oh, Honey, dear. Don’t worry. I probably got my wires crossed. You know how it is. Do you, by chance, recall what he looked like?" Cecelia asked casually.

"Oh, umm...hmm. Well, he wasn't too tall, but not short either. He had blue eyes and a moustache...I think, or maybe it was a beard. I don't know. But I do remember he had kind of a funny accent, I think." Honey squinted her eyes and twitched her mouth about as an exercise to aid her recollection.

CeCe thought it humorous that a young woman from the South Side of Chicago had made a remark about someone with a funny accent. But, putting that aside, replied.

"Well, Honey, thank you ever so much. It was so delightful to see you again. Whenever you find yourself stateside, do please look me up.” CeCe smiled and waved as she exited the shop.

A bit miffed and angry with herself for failing to accomplish whatever the message from Jacek had intended, and having forfeited the watch in the process, she chastised herself all the way back to the Hotel Château Girard. But what weighed more heavily on her mind was that Jacek wasn’t there at the little shop. To be honest with herself, she knew it was a long shot in thinking that he would be, but nonetheless, her heart felt heavy as she entered the lobby and went to reception to collect her room key.

She opened the door to her suite, glad to see that the fire had been lit. It was brutally cold outside now that the sun had set, and she was grateful for the warmth. Outside the window, a gentle falling snow looked like millions of tiny white ballerinas dancing under the stage light of the street lamps.

“Hmmm.” She sighed. “Happy Valentine’s Day to me.” Her melancholy was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Bellman, Miss Canterbury. Delivery for you.” Came the young man’s voice.

***********

She stood by the fire admiring the beautifully wrapped box of chocolates. An envelope, tucked under the velvet bow, held a note:

‘The watch worked beautifully. Right on time and keeping really good track. Soon, no one will ever take our time again. Although they are all delicious, The Cherry Cordials and the Mocha Mousse are especially so, the Pecan Praline are sweet, and the Nougats are nutty, but don’t eat them all, save the last for me.’ ~KJ

“Well, isn’t that a fine how-do-you-do!” CeCe scoffed. “What kind of a fool does he take me to be? Its Valentine’s Day! Not April Fool Day!” She tossed the chocolates on the table, slumped onto the chaise longue and brooded. She looked again at the falling snow and brooded. She began pacing in front of the fire and brooded. She looked again at the rejected box of chocolates and, brooding no more, she grasped the ridiculous note to hurl it into the flames.

“Well, Mister. Since you’ve decided to be so clever as to make a fool of me and then reward me with a box of chocolates…on VALENTINE’S DAY NO LESS! I shall NOT save the champagne truffles for you! I’ll eat them myself and throw the rest and your pathetic note out!”

She ripped open the ribbon and peered inside the box. There, lined up in neat little rows were all of the chocolates, 12 across and 12 deep. CeCe scrutinized the box and its contents.

“Let’s see…Cherry Cordial. First row, 12 across. Mocha Mousse. Second row, 12 across. Pecan Praline. Third row…Hmmm.” She looked back at the note. This was a little bit more than a commentary on his favorites.

She picked up the first chocolate – a Cherry Cordial. Under the sweet treat, a letter “D” was printed on the paper candy liner. She picked up a Mocha Mousse and found a letter “N”, under the Nougat, the letter “O”, and so on.

“It’s a CODE, you sneaky devil, you!” It seemed that each chocolate had a corresponding letter printed on the paper under it, so if the Cherry Cordial had a “D” under it, the “C” really stood for “D”!

“BRILLIANT!” CeCe kissed the note she had previously threatened to banish, rang for a bottle of bubbly, and solved the cipher:

N J E O J H I U J O N B S D I

M I D N I G H T I N M A R C H

****************

February 16th, 1938.

CeCe Canterbury returned to Midnight Manor and began to put all of the information she had gathered over the last few weeks in order. She had kept the note that was attached to the box of chocolates, but sadly, not the chocolates. Well, that is to say, she ate the chocolates, all except for one that she had saved out for Mr. Brown.

She had saved the note not only for sentimental reasons, although she’d be loath to admit it, but for practical purposes as well. The way that Jacek had been clear about saving the last for him had made her wonder if he had been referring to their cipher key. In specific methods of cryptology, the use of a cipher key was the only way one could decode a message. Each letter on the message corresponded with a different letter on the cipher key. Once the encrypted code had been deciphered with the key, that line of the key was rendered ‘used’ and had to be crossed out or destroyed. This must have been what he meant by 'save the last'. But, rather than risking it by deep-sixing their key, she decided to wait until Jacek returned sometime in March.

9th March 1938.

Austrian Chancellor, Schuschnigg announces that there would be a referendum to be held on 13 March to decide between a possible union with Germany or the maintenance of Austria's sovereignty. Schuschnigg expects to win a clear majority to face the Nazi challenge, but the Nazis refuse and demand the appointment of a new cabinet under Seyss-Inquart. Under the threat of military occupation, Schuschnigg resigns.

Cecelia Canterbury, hearing nothing of his change in plans, waited for Jacek’s return.

12th March 1938.

The German Army crosses the border into Austria. Still no work from Jacek.

**************

14 May 1938.

CeCe receives a telegram from Jacek indicating she should be at the Bletchley Park Train Station at 16:00 hrs. on 21 May 1938. What she learns may lead to a culmination of events on the evening of 10th October, less than six months later.