Hope Under Fire

by Caroline Dunford

Genres: Historical Mysteries

Synopsis

Set in London during the Blitz, Hope Under Fire is the fourth exciting spy thriller in Caroline Dunford's World War II Hope Stapleford Adventures.

It is late August 1940 and British Intelligence agent Hope Stapleford is desperate to join the Special Operations Executive. But spymaster Fitzroy, now Hope's stepfather, has promised to protect her, so instead he sends her to work in the home propaganda department of the Ministry of Information.

When bombs start to fall in London and lives are tragically lost, Hope secretly becomes an ARP warden and her asset, Harvey, becomes a nightshift fireman on the East End docks. And as the Blitz rages on, Hope must keep the nation's spirits up, while never knowing where the next threat to her safety lies . . .

Readers LOVE Caroline Dunford's gripping Second World War thrillers!

'Wonderful in its writing, characterisation and plot the book never fails to entertain' ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

'This is one of the best written mystery series that I have read' ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

'They're so well written that they're hard to put down! I can't wait for the next one!' ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

'This has got to be one of the best writers of mystery books' ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Release date: October 10, 2024

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 192

Sample

Earlier

I realised things weren’t going to plan when Leo swore at the guard. His face suffused with red. His normally bright blue eyes were cloudy. His lower teeth bit into his neat moustache as if he was physically trying to hold back the words that boiled inside him. He was angrier than I remembered seeing him, but then my stepfather can have that effect on people.

We had left my new stepfather and my mother behind to make their final preparations for travelling out to Cairo. My stepfather, Fitzroy, is in military intelligence. So is my mother. Their sudden marriage after the death of my father, had caught me utterly by surprise. They had been agents and partners during the Great War, and had worked on and off together throughout my childhood. How much espionage they had been involved with, and at what level, I was only now beginning to discover.

They had thought, like others, that the Great War was the war to end all wars. (Now, we knew it was only a tragic overture.) But having created a great many enemies through their work, they had trained me from when I could first say a few words and toddle about, to observe and evade. Despite raising me in the Fens, both of them had always feared someone would come for me. For revenge. For something they had done.

So when we went to war with Germany I was, if not a fully trained agent, well on my way to becoming one. My stepfather, who was then still only my godfather, had missed the whole show down in Ireland in the twenties, and managed to stay in intelligence right up until the present day. He was connected in more ways than I understood, and a master at pulling strings and generally getting his own way. I realised Leo’s anger was almost certainly directed at Fitzroy and not the poor man in front of us.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I told the elderly man who had checked our rail passes, ‘we didn’t realise this train was going to London.’

‘Well, you can’t get off. We’re not stopping now. We’re as full as we can hold.’

‘No, of course, not,’ I said.

Leo was by now making a nuisance of himself and pulling his bag down from the overhead rack. There were two other men in the compartment with us, both officers, a captain and major, and both frowning heavily.

‘Right you are then,’ said the guard. He moved out of the way as Leo swung the bag down. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’ He paused before he opened the door. ‘I hope neither of you pair is leading any of our chaps anywhere.’ Then he slipped out before Leo could rail at his small joke.

‘Hold these,’ said Leo, piling clothing into my lap.

‘You can’t,’ I hissed at him.

‘I bloody well can,’ said Leo. ‘He’s done the dirty on me. Bloody man. Bloody, bloody man.’

‘I say,’ said the captain, who had an extremely full moustache, ‘that’s no way to speak in front of a lady.’

‘She’s not a lady,’ snapped Leo, ‘she’s a lieutenant in the army.’

‘A lieutenant by gad,’ said the captain, reaching over and holding out his hand. ‘Charles Willard, Captain, Royal Engineers.’

‘Hope Stapleford,’ I said, shaking his hand. ‘Army administration.’ Leo made a scornful huff at this, but as his face was still half-buried in his bag, Willard either didn’t hear him or chose not to.

‘Off to straighten out London, are we? Getting lots of files shipshape?’

‘Something like that,’ I said.

‘You’re not in uniform,’ said the major suddenly. He had the kind of voice that you associate with men disappointed in life, and ready to take it out on anyone who crosses their path. A scratchy sort of voice with a slight nasal whine.

‘We had to leave very suddenly,’ I said.

‘Filing having an emergency, was it?’ said Willard, but he laughed in a friendly manner. ‘What about you, sir? Rummaging in the luggage? You an army man too?’

‘Yes,’ said Leo unhelpfully. He pulled out the heavy envelope. ‘Put that stuff back in, Hope,’ he said. ‘And keep it neat.’

Fortunately, Leo rolled his clothing, so this was easy enough to do.

‘Orders you about a bit, doesn’t he?’ said Willard, who I was beginning to think might have had a bit of a send-off before pouring himself into the carriage. Either that or he was looking for a fight.

I looked up and smiled. ‘He’s a major,’ I said.

‘Oh right,’ said Willard. ‘Sorry, sir. No uniform.’

Leo ignored everyone. He went to the far end of the compartment, pulled the blind down so there was no reflection, and tore open the envelope. He spent a couple of minutes reading and rereading the papers it contained, then he began to swear under his breath. He thrust the papers at me, and turned to face the blind, his fists balled in his lap.

I’d realised when the guard had said we were headed to London that my stepfather’s chauffeur had not delivered us to the train we expected to be on. However, it was unlike any of Fitzroy’s people to make a mistake, so I had assumed that we would simply be changing trains in the capital. Leo, who hadn’t enjoyed his enforced stay with Fitzroy and my mother at their castle – it was going to take a lot of getting used to that my mother was now a duchess – had clearly suspected a plot before I had.

I read the orders he had passed me. It stated clearly at the top these were not to be read before we exited the train, but that seemed moot now. Besides, I had been raised to always consider any order carefully before complying.

The instructions were brief. Instead of going to Scotland to support the first batch of SOE recruits Leo and I had helped pick, we were going to the Ministry of Information. Leo had been fretting for some time over the fate of the amateurs he had picked for the SOE project. These brave souls were to be given seven weeks’ training and then dropped into occupied France to aid the Resistance. The selection process had been rigorous, and we had only been one part of it, but the nearer we got to the first deployment the more responsible Leo had begun to feel. He had changed from the charismatic undercover officer I had first met, to a man who kept whisky in his office and brooded. I suspected this might be why Fitzroy had sent us elsewhere. I knew he didn’t approve of the SOE, but he wasn’t directly involved. I had been seconded to them, and now it appeared Leo had been seconded back in return. I reflected that it was probably better for Leo’s mental state that he hadn’t gone to Scotland, and it might even have been a kindness. However, now was not the time to point this out. I decided it was time to distract the other members of the compartment, and broke out the sandwiches the cook had given us for the journey. As Fitzroy was now a duke, with a castle and extensive kitchen gardens and farms, I was able to refocus the attention of the two officers. In fact, by the end of the journey we were on rather good terms. Leo had stayed sulking in the corner with his face to the drawn blind. I wondered just how much trouble I was going to have with him.

We had almost kissed once, and I had been holding out some hope that we might, if not become lovers, at least be friends. I did not have a surfeit of these, or even a sufficiency.

We arrived in London late in the afternoon. At several points the train had stopped on the tracks and waited for other trains to pass. Clearly there was a great deal of troop movement going on. Climbing down on to the platform was like dropping into another world. London is always a shock after the countryside, but the sheer mass of people moving along the platforms, the huge tea stands, to which we almost immediately lost Willard and his friend, the shunting of stock and the bustle of the guards was astonishing. The noise of the engines and the shouted commands, the whispered goodbyes, the loud camaraderie of those heading off to war buffeted us like a body blow of sound. My instinct was to get clear as soon as possible, and I headed directly for the exit.

I emerged into the cold sunshine and buzz of the city. I felt a little electric shock surge through me. London might be busy, and the press of people put me on edge, but it was always exciting. I had no idea what the Ministry of Information was. It did sound as if it might be some kind of deep-cover intelligence work. I turned to see how Leo was faring. His face told me everything I didn’t want to know.

I hailed a cab. Our orders had implied we were to go straight to the ministry, but as our train had been so delayed I doubted anyone knew when we were due to arrive. I gave the cabbie the address of my London flat. Maybe some decent coffee could get Leo into a better mood. Clearly, turning up in the state he was in would not start us off on the right foot. Why, I wondered silently, do people always think women are the emotional ones? In my experience it is men who wear their hearts on their sleeves, certainly their sulks.

Leo didn’t say anything on the journey, but followed me up to the flat like some kind of automaton. I made him some coffee, and sorted quickly through my mail. Nothing of great interest, although a letter addressed to my late flatmate, Bernie, gave me a strange cold feeling in my chest. I placed it on the side. I hadn’t liked her husband, but I supposed I should pass it on to him.

I came back through. Leo was staring into the distance, but he’d drunk his coffee. ‘Do you think I will get to stay here?’ I said. I was more thinking aloud than expecting a response, but Leo surprised me, by answering.

‘I don’t have a billet,’ he said. ‘I was meant to be staying in Scotland, permanently assigned to the training team.’

I sat down opposite him. ‘You mean, you’d been moved off recruiting?’ I asked. ‘You didn’t mention this.’

He frowned. ‘It was need-to-know and you didn’t. You were assigned to my department, not to me.’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I shouldn’t have presumed we would . . .’

‘I’m well aware your stepfather wants to coerce me into being some kind of guard dog for you . . .’

‘Now wait a minute—’

Leo held up his hand. ‘You don’t need one. I know. But for whatever reason, your stepfather isn’t prepared to let you out unattended.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘It is when there’s a war on, and you could be a lot more useful in the field than in a propaganda unit. As could I.’

‘Is that what the Ministry of Information is?’

Leo gave me a hard look. ‘What else could it possibly be?’

‘Cookbooks. Oh God. That would be worse.’ Leo frowned even harder. ‘I’m not mad,’ I said. ‘Fitzroy had my flatmate working on trying out recipes for the home front. You know, cheap and easy meals that taste good with whatever you can dig up for victory.’ I smiled slightly. ‘He chose her because she was the world’s least competent cook. Or as close as.’

‘I am not spending the war writing cookbooks!’

‘No,’ I said. ‘But Fitzroy is flying out to Cairo. If they haven’t left already. My mother thought they would be gone at least a couple of months. Surely he can’t keep pulling my – our – strings from over there?’

‘I should never have tried to kiss you,’ said Leo gloomily. ‘That was my big mistake.’

I felt myself blushing. ‘Well, you didn’t, so we can put all that behind us.’

Leo snorted in a way I didn’t find particularly complimentary. We had both been a bit overwrought at the time. The realisation that we had helped choose a number of perfectly nice people, who would in all likelihood die in unpleasant ways abroad, had just hit home for both of us. That my then stepfather had chosen that moment to burst into my flat had prevented us kissing – which would almost certainly have been a mistake, not least because Leo was of a higher rank – and the whole potential kissing scenario had been avoided.

But then the last person I had kissed had gone to a fiery death in an aeroplane crash, and I was still dealing with that. That, and the death of my father, the remarriage of my mother, and the intolerable interference of my god/stepfather, who had been the person I had been second closest to my whole life. And then, Bernie, my best friend, was suddenly dead.

Some of what I was thinking must have shown on my face, because Leo suddenly became a lot more animated. ‘Buck up, Hope,’ he said, standing and carrying his coffee cup to the sink. ‘You’re right. In a couple of days I can put out feelers and contact my old commander. I’m pretty sure he’d be eager to have me back. He can’t have been keen on seconding me out. With Fitzroy out of the way I’m sure I can get us up to Scotland. I take it you’d rather be doing that?’

I shrugged. ‘I’d rather do anything other than typing,’ I said.

‘I don’t suppose I could bunk in here, could I?’ Leo asked. ‘It would be simpler if I didn’t have to go through the process of getting another billet. Make us easier to move too.’

I blinked. ‘I never cleared out Bernie’s room,’ I said.

‘Would it be that hard?’ said Leo.

I got up wordlessly and led the way through to the second bedroom. Bernie had been the messiest person I had ever known. In her mind a drawer was only in proper use if it was open, full, and dripping stuff all over the floor. Either that or she’d open out the drawers and stack books, shoes and make-up in staggering piles on top of them. Obviously, there were frequent avalanches and collapses. I opened the door. ‘Have a look,’ I said.

Leo peered in. ‘I suppose I could get something from stores if you don’t have any linen,’ he said.

I slipped in front of him to see what he was talking about. The room was completely empty of Bernie’s possessions. A stripped bed, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe were all that remained. Even the carpet was pristine.

‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘I didn’t do this.’

‘Her husband?’ said Leo.

‘He doesn’t have a key – or I don’t think he does. Anyway, he wouldn’t . . .’ I took a deep breath. ‘Fitzroy,’ I said.

‘He had a key, didn’t he?’ said Leo. He blushed slightly, clearly remembering the awkward moment once more.

‘Fitzroy no doubt has keys to the gates of heaven,’ I said through gritted teeth.

‘That I sincerely doubt,’ said Leo.

The Ministry of Information was in one of those amorphous white office blocks that litter the centre of London. Built in the 1800s for the then more aristocratic civil servants of the day, they had white, sharp-edge brick fronts, with impressive stairways inside and out. The imposing nature of the building was slightly diminished by the sandbags piled up outside and the criss-crosses of black tape across the windowpanes.

‘They are taking the possibility of bombing seriously,’ said Leo.

I shrugged. It had been far too long since I’d had eyes on any intelligence reports. I had little idea of how the war was going. ‘Better to be prepared,’ I said.

We went up an imposing set of steps together. We’d both changed into our uniforms and brushed up as well as we could. We reported to the front desk. Or rather Leo, being of senior rank, did.

‘You’re late,’ said the corporal behind the desk. ‘She won’t like that. And when they say the bark is worse than the bite, they don’t mean her.’ He handed us both an identification badge. ‘I’d hop to it if I were you. Third floor, and as good an excuse as you can conjure up on the way up.’

Leo and I exchanged looks, but had the good sense not to comment on whoever this dragon might be within earshot. We eschewed the lift and trotted smartly up the wide marble stairs. Arriving out of breath when you are late always looks better than stepping leisurely out of a lift.

Our last mission had been in the Highlands, and both of us were fitter for our encounter with the Scottish countryside. However, since then Leo had sat at a desk and slunk around London and its nightclubs recruiting for the SOE, while I had been training as an auxiliary – the last line of defence should we be invaded. By the time we marched into the assigned room, entering on the echo of our knock, Leo was panting and I hadn’t broken a sweat.

It was a large space filled with a number of desks, filing cabinets and large tables. Both men and women in army uniform criss-crossed the room. All walking purposefully, often carrying manila folders and only stopping when they met to talk in low voices. The place had a hum and a feeling of energy about it. I briefly took in that some of the larger tables had photographs on them and overhead magnifiers, but what got my attention was the clack-clack of typewriters.

Fitzroy had previously placed me undercover as a typist – although he had not told me at the time, nor even yet confirmed it – and I had learned to hate the machines and the boring, endless tasks inflicted on their operators.

‘Oh no, not again,’ I said under my breath.

Leo gave me an odd look, but before I could explain, a woman with iron-grey hair and features that must have once been pretty before life had soured her, and the pips had been put on her shoulder, walked so quickly up to us, that I took a step back, fearing collision.

She eyed us from the soles of our shoes to the tops of our caps. She took barely any time to do this, but I still felt as if someone had run a torch up and down my skin. ‘This won’t do at all,’ she said. Her voice was deeper than I expected, and with a crispness that told us she demanded everything was done her way.

‘You’re a major,’ she said accusingly to Leo.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he responded, even though he doubtless outranked her. Later, he told me that he hadn’t felt so guilty about anything since his mother caught him stealing his younger brother’s biscuits when he was four.

I saw Leo straighten as if on parade. The female officer’s top lip curled slightly. She was not impressed. ‘Well, we can’t have you here. Besides, you’re far too good-looking. No brains, I expect. Fleming should take you in his unit only he’s got a full complement. Go up to the fifth. They’ll find something for you.’

‘The fifth?’ said Leo.

‘Fifth floor.’ She didn’t add the words ‘you idiot’, but both of us heard them. Leo nodded. ‘Well get! I don’t have time to waste on you!’

Leo turned and left. The expression on his face was a mix of indignation and disbelief. If I hadn’t been so worried about what was going to happen to me I would have laughed.

‘So you’re Sunflower? I’m Masterton. You can call me ma’am. There’s not much of you to look at is there? Mind you, you’re carrying a bit of weight around the middle. Privileged no doubt. You’ll need to watch that while you’re out of the field. Now, can you type?’

It is never worth lying to anyone in intelligence – well, not on your own side. Within minutes I was stuck at a desk with enough typing to take me the rest of the week. People passing my desk would slap a file down on the top of my pile. ‘This takes priority,’ they would say. Then someone else would come over and rearrange the pile. Other than Masterton, I had no idea who was running this show, and could only look on in bewilderment as this weird game of pass the parcel played out on the corner of my desk.

A lot of what I was typing made no sense. I did wonder if any of it was in code, but gradually I realised that I was typing such different reports that they had little or no common context. Everybody wanted everything now, so the words fairly blurred under my fingers. One minute I was typing about how many portions a housewife was making out of a tin of Spam, the next I was typing up conversations that were so artificially stilted I couldn’t believe they were real.

When someone finally tapped me on the shoulder and told me I could get lunch in the canteen in the basement, and that I had twenty minutes to get it, I looked at them in confusion. Surely it must be dinner time by now? I checked my watch on the way down, and realised I had been typing for less than two hours. I didn’t think I would enjoy working in this department whatever it was. I also utterly failed to see what contribution I was making to the war effort. Had Fitzroy sidelined me again? Or had I been placed here to weed out a traitor?

If I was asked under oath to swear I was working for my stepfather I couldn’t have done it. But if not, why on earth was Leo here? There had been no reason to derail him from the SOE operations he had been going to support. Fitzroy might be many things, but if he was angry with another man, he was more than likely to punch them in the face. He might be snea. . .