THE LAVENDER SEMAPHORE By Tracy Cooper-Posey
Adelaide Becket Story 4.0
Historical Suspense Espionage Novelette
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Lady Adelaide leads a double life that sits ill with her…
In Edwardian Britain, Lady Adelaide Azalea Margaret de Morville, Mrs. Hugh Becket, finds her work for William Melville, spymaster, clashes with the life her society friends believe her to be leading. Her guilt rises when her very dear friend, Isa Hass, arrives from Cape Town and asks questions Adele cannot answer.
When a homeless urchin, Charlie Rowbottom, hands a note written in German code over to Adele, she struggles to keep her true nature separated from her position in society while she searches for the writer of the note.
This novelette is the fourth in the Adelaide Becket Edwardian espionage series.
1: The Requisite Courage
2: The Rosewater Debutante
3: The Unaccompanied Widow
4: The Lavender Semaphore
…and more to come.
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Excerpt
EXCERPT FROM THE LAVENDER SEMAPHORE
COPYRIGHT © TRACY COOPER-POSEY 2021
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Queens Street, Mayfair. September 8, 1907.
At first, Adele thought a homeless waif had used her kitchen door as a bed. She had slept late because of the previous evening’s events, and was still barely awake when she slipped down to the kitchen just past nine o’clock in the morning. The cathedral and church bells had fallen mercifully silent, although they had stirred her enough she could not simply turn over and go back to sleep.
She took off the bar to the outer door, intending to collect the day’s milk bottle from the step. She turned the handle, and the door whooshed inward, pushed by a weight against it.
The weight fell onto the painted concrete floor, making Adele gasp and step back, pulling her peignoir hem out of the way. The small child had been curled up, his dirty shoulder against the door. Now he lay on the concrete, blinking up at Adele through sleep-fogged eyes, his face dirt-smeared. He smelled of dampness and desperate circumstances. Adele realized that even though she knew the boy, and he had propped himself against her door for a reason other than sleep, in one respect there was, indeed, a homeless lad using her doorstep as a very uncomfortable mattress.
“Charlie Rowbottom, what are you doing, sleeping there?” she demanded.
Charlie rubbed his eyes, which merely redistributed the dirt around them. “I woz ‘oping you’d read this to me, tell me if it’s werf anyfing.” He held up a scrap of paper in his other fist. “Figured it might be werf a bit o’ milk, maybe.” He looked up at her with large blue eyes, and blinked.
Adele tried to harden her heart against such blatant manipulation, but failed. “Oh, get up off the floor, you fool of a child. Come in and tell me about it.”
Charlie grinned and scrambled to his feet.
