Y.S. Lee - The Agency 2: The Body at the Tower

Y. S. Lee was born in Singapore and raised in Vancouver and Toronto. In 2004, Ying completed her PhD in Victorian literature and culture. This research, combined with her time living in London, inspired her to write a story about a top-secret womens detective agency the starting point for the Mary Quinn novels.

Ying now lives in Kingston, Ontario, with her husband and son. Please visit her at:

www.yslee.com

St Johns Wood, London

T he freedoms of being a boy, reflected Mary, were many. She could swing her arms as she walked. She could run, if she wished. She looked tidy enough to avoid police suspicion, but shabby enough to be invisible to all others. Then there was the odd sensation of lightness that came of having cropped hair; she hadnt realized how heavy her own hair was until it was gone. Her breasts were tightly bound, and even if they did ache a little at such treatment, she could at least scratch herself with impunity, scratching in public being one of those Boy Things she ought to enjoy while she could. It was therefore a shame that she wasnt enjoying the situation. Wearing boys clothing was comfortable and amusing, and shed enjoyed her escapades in breeches during her first-ever assignment. But this today was entirely different. It was serious, and she still had no idea why.

Her instructions were simple enough: to costume herself as a twelve-year-old boy and attend a meeting of the Agency at three oclock this afternoon. No further explanation had been offered, and by now, Mary knew better than to ask for more details. Anne and Felicity always gave precisely as much information as they deemed appropriate. Of course, such knowledge hadnt stopped her from fretting about the possibilities, yesterday, overnight and all this morning. Over the past year, shed delighted in her training: tests, lessons and brief assignments that offered a taste of the life to come. But there was little pleasure in her this morning. What did Anne and Felicity want? And what sort of assignment could be connected with her present guise?

The Agency had been created and was staffed entirely by women, and its genius lay in the exploitation of female stereotypes. Its secret agents disguised themselves as maids, governesses, clerks, lady companions, and other humble, powerless characters. In most situations, no matter how dangerous, few people would suspect a subservient woman of being intelligent and observant, let alone a professional spy. With this as the Agencys guiding philosophy, it made no sense whatsoever for Mary to be dressed as a boy.

She raked her fingers through her hair, then stopped abruptly mid-stroke: that was a girls gesture. And the only thing worse than not understanding what she was doing was compounding it by making a poor job of it. As she neared the top of Acacia Road, where the Agency was headquartered, Mary pressed her lips together and took several deep breaths. Her cowardly impulse was to turn and make one last circuit of Regents Park, to spend just a little more time thinking matters through. As though she hadnt already been marching about St Johns Wood for the past two hours. As though physical movement might still her mind and soothe her nerves. As though she was calm enough to sort through the swirl of emotions clouding her mind.

It was time to act, not to think. A few brisk steps took her to the house with its wrought-iron gates and polished brass nameplate: M ISS S CRIMSHAWS A CADEMY FOR G IRLS . The Academy had been her home for years, now. But today, looking at the nameplate, she willed herself to look at it as a stranger might specifically, as a twelve-year-old boy might. The house was large and well kept, with a tidy garden and flagged path. But in contrast with those of the neighbouring houses, the front steps were swept but not whitened an essential task that proclaimed to the world that one kept servants, and kept them busy re-whitening the steps each time a caller marred them with footprints. The Academys irregularity here was the only sign of the most unusual institution that lay within.

Suddenly, the front door swung open and disgorged a pair of girls or, rather, young ladies. They were neatly dressed, neither at the height of fashion nor in the depths of dowdiness. They were having an animated conversation. And they looked curiously at Mary, whose nose was still inches from the closed gate.

Are you lost? asked the taller of the two, as they approached the gate.

Mary shook her head. No, miss. Her voice came out higher than she wanted, and she cleared her throat hastily. I was bid come here.

A fine wrinkle appeared on the girls forehead. By whom?

I mean, Ive a letter to deliver.

The girl held out her hand. Then you may give it to me.

Mary shook her head again. Cant, miss. Im charged to give it to Mrs Frame and no one else. Is this her house? Shed spent all morning working on her inflection, trying to get the accent right while keeping her voice gruff.

The girl looked imperious. You may trust me; Im the head girl at this Academy.

Mary knew exactly who Alice Fernie was. Head girl, indeed! She was only head of her year. Cant, miss. Orders.

Head Girls face twisted into a scolding look, but before she could speak again her companion said, Never mind, Alice. Well be late if we stop to argue with him.

Im not arguing; Im just saying

The second girl unlatched the gate and nodded kindly to Mary. Go on, then.

Mary tugged her cap respectfully and dodged around the pair, leaving Alice scowling into the road. As she walked around to the side door the front door wasnt for the likes of humbly dressed messenger boys she grinned broadly. Her disguise had passed well enough before Alice and Martha Mason, which was a start.

Her small stock of confidence plummeted, though, as she walked down the familiar corridors, heavy boots shuffling against the carpet runners. It was one thing to slip past a pair of schoolgirls, and another to confront the managers of the Agency. As she neared the heavy oak door of Anne Treleavens office, her stomach twisted and she felt a wave of dizziness. Shed been too overwrought to eat breakfast. Or, for that matter, last nights dinner.

As she raised one hand to knock, she had a sudden memory of doing precisely this, feeling exactly this way, just over a year earlier. That was when shed learned of the existence of the Agency and embarked on her training as a secret agent. And here she was, not fourteen months later, feeling as confused and anxious as she had back then. The thought gave her courage. She was not the same girl shed been last spring untrained, ignorant, hotheaded. Over the past year shed learned so much. But it wasnt the physical techniques sleight of hand, disguise, combat that showed how shed matured. It was her understanding of people, of calculated risk, that showed how shed changed as well as what remained for her to learn. It was all thanks to these women. She trusted them. And that trust would conquer the fear that made such a hard knot in her stomach.

Somehow.

* * *

You ought not have accepted the contract, Felicity.

Felicity Frames confident smile did not waver. Its an excellent contract: interesting, lucrative, and one that brings us to the attention of certain Powers That Be at Westminster. If we impress them with our work in this instance, this could be the start of a whole new era for the Agency.

Anne Treleaven was careful to keep her expression neutral. Such grandiose claims do not change the fact that you acted inappropriately. Weve never before accepted work without making a joint decision.