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Honour’s Game – Part 2 November-December 1938
Report — 20 November 1938
To: D.
From: Honour
Occasion: Tea at Mrs. Allerton’s, Chester Square. Weather bright but sharp; the drawing-room draughty even with the fire lit. A silver tray of stale biscuits circulated, and the tea was thin. Champagne offered “for warmth,” though no one drank more than a half glass.
Method:
Sat quietly on the small sofa nearest the window, where I could see the street but seemed out of the main conversation. Kept my gloves on, as directed. Smiled when spoken to, but answered only when asked. Declined cake (I noticed you were right about them).
Observations:
– Mrs. Allerton told, at length, the story of her Pekinese dog’s new diet. (Can add significantly more detail if required.)
– Miss Fairchild announced she is off to Switzerland “for her health” and will stay at a sanatorium in Davos. Everyone nodded, no one asked why.
– Mr. Birtle from the Ministry made a joke about “our little outpost in Vienna still clinging on.” When no one laughed, he changed the subject to hunting.
– A parcel arrived mid-tea — brown paper, twice tied with string, addressed to Mrs. Allerton but signed for by Mr. Birtle. She ordered it be sent upstairs and placed unopened on her writing desk.
– Miss Fairchild coughed often and rather theatrically, but her hands did not tremble when she poured.
– Mrs. Allerton rang twice for the maid, who pretended not to hear.
Assessment:
The talk was mostly dull. Still, the parcel seemed odd, and Mr. Birtle’s joke odder. I wrote them down as best I could. I suppose it is not my place to decide what is trivial and what is not.
Postscript:
I find I rather like these exercises. They make even dull people interesting, once I begin to listen for what they hide. But I still think you could send me somewhere with better biscuits.
Signed,
Honour
Notes in the Margin — in pencil, by D.
Good attention to detail. The tone is steadier; less embroidery.
Mrs. Allerton’s dog: irrelevant, but the phrasing amused me. Keep such diversions short.
Miss Fairchild’s “health”: plausible cover, but Switzerland often means more than sanatoria. Watch who corresponds with her.
Birtle’s “outpost in Vienna” — careless language. Worth remembering.
Parcel: interesting. Why was it signed for by him and not her? Why the insistence on her desk, unopened? Record any future references to letters or packages.
“Miss Fairchild coughed often and rather theatrically, but her hands did not tremble when she poured.”
→ Who noticed? How did they react? These silences matter as much as speech.
Do not laugh often. Consider feigning not understanding — you would do well to be underestimated, as then you will either vanish or be explained to.
Good, Honour. You are learning to listen. Be careful, though — curiosity can make as much noise as carelessness.
You improve. But that’s enough praise. If I am not cautious, you will grow insufferable.
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Honour’s Game — Embassy Exercise
(Wednesday 14 – Thursday 15 December 1938)
Exercise — Wednesday, 14 December 1938
You will accompany Darlington to the reception at the American Embassy this evening, dressing your part as the young Lady de Vries.
Treat it as observation under supervision. The company will be louder, the lights brighter, and discretion rarer.
Instructions:
– Attend to what people repeat; repetition is the refuge of the uncertain.
– Note who speaks of “Europe” and who of “peace.” The distinction is useful.
– Accept drinks only from me. I will attend to the level of your glass.
– You may dance once. Choose your partner with care. A man’s choice of conversation is often more revealing than his steps.
– I will dance with you after and then refresh your beverage. Never drink from a glass you have set down.
– Listen for what the Americans ask and what they assume.
– Record afterwards what you recall of faces and phrases; accuracy first, charm second.
– Keep your gloves on. The Ambassador’s wife counts fingerprints as well as introductions.
– We will take our leave by eleven o’clock.
Deliver your report by nine the next morning, before our breakfast.
Do not oversleep. If I must wake you, it will not be gently. Recall how unsympathetic I am before coffee.
You do not want to be a naughty girl, Honour.
Report — Thursday, 15 December 1938
To: D. From: Honour
Occasion: Reception at the American Embassy, 1 Grosvenor Square. Weather damp and raw; the ballroom overheated and full of optimism. American flags and English laughter everywhere.
Method:
Arrived with Darlington promptly at nine. Remained at his side through the first half-hour, then circulated briefly. Kept gloves on. Accepted no drink not offered by you. Danced once with Captain Maynard (Naval Attaché, U.S.) as permitted. Danced after with you. Departed by eleven. Wrote notes on return while my hair was still pinned and my shoes still tight, as you have instructed that impressions fade with comfort.
Observations:
– The Americans speak loudly and laugh easily. They repeat “peace” often, and always with a capital letter.
– Captain Maynard, tall and sun-browned, described the Munich Agreement as “a patch on a leaky roof.” When I asked how long he thought it might hold, he said, “Until it rains.”
– He seemed delighted to be asked at all. I believe he would have talked the entire evening had I not insisted he dance. His manners are excellent, though his optimism seems learned rather than felt.
– Lady Fenton told anyone who would listen that she finds Americans “refreshingly direct.” They, in turn, appeared to find her alarming.
– Mrs Ashworth spoke again with Mr Birtle near the French doors. He gestured westward with his glass when saying “we must look across the Atlantic,” then immediately turned east to glance at you.
– I met the Ambassador’s wife, Mrs Kennedy — charming, brisk, with that unmistakable Boston accent. She seemed curious about my conversion and spoke kindly of her own church in London. She knew more of the de Vries family than I expected; apparently your great-grandfather’s Catholic loyalty during the Reformation is still a matter of diplomatic gossip. I found her conversation more candid than most of the men’s speeches.
– The Ambassador himself spoke earnestly of “Mr Chamberlain’s good sense.” I smiled and said nothing.
– You danced impeccably. (That remains an observation, not embroidery.)
Assessment:
There is much talk of goodwill and little of consequence. The tone is not confidence but exhaustion disguised as gaiety. Captain Maynard seems less naïve than his superiors; Mrs Kennedy rather more perceptive than most of the men.
I remain uncertain whether these people are more dangerous when they talk or when they stop.
Postscript:
I have delivered my report before your breakfast, though I confess I am only barely awake myself. I will expect my coffee — and my marks — presently. I have also already sent a note of thanks, together with a small box of British toy soldiers for young Edward (Kennedy), who is attending Gibbs in London. Mrs Kennedy remarked that her own boys are devoted to their playthings, and I told her my own Edward had loved his when he was small. It seemed a polite and fitting token — and perhaps a reminder that the world still trains its armies early.
Signed,
Honour
Notes in the Margin — in pencil, by D.
The report’s structure much improved. Observation sharper, tone measured.
– Maynard’s metaphor well captured; worth keeping. You chose your partner shrewdly. Officers talk most freely when they believe themselves charming the room.
– Lady Fenton’s conversational enthusiasm: tedious but accurately rendered.
– Birtle again. His gestures betray more than his words — note pattern of repetition at each function.
– Mrs Kennedy: perceptive woman. Take care; she observes more than she reveals. I suspect she found you interesting.
– The Ambassador’s “good sense”: record the phrase exactly. It will date poorly.
– Your closing remark on “goodwill and exhaustion” — apt. Retain it.
The postscript amused me. The gift appropriate, if perhaps too British. The Kennedys, with their Irish sympathies, are unlikely to have given young Edward a regiment of redcoats. Still, the thought was charming, and your account of my own toy soldiers unexpectedly kind.
Do not, however, make a habit of charming ambassadors’ wives — or of sending toy soldiers to anyone’s Edward but mine.
Good, Honour. Continue.
D.
Private Journal — Thursday, 15 December 1938
(Not to be shown. Burn if ever found.)
I feel quite grown-up tonight. The Embassy was nothing like the “bad biscuit” tea — the rooms were bright as a theatre, full of polished laughter and perfume and the rustle of taffeta.
I wore the pale cornflower satin gown — the one Madame Lenoir said was “too young for gravitas, too grown-up for innocence.” I rather like that. The gloves were white kid, long to the elbow, though I had to hide a tiny ink stain on the right thumb where I’d tested my new pen that morning. Ned said nothing, only looked me over once and nodded, which I think meant approval. It felt strange to stand beside him looking so adult.
He gave me an early Christmas gift before we left — a tiny silver réticule from Cartier, so small it barely holds a lipstick, compact, and handkerchief. He showed me how to open its hidden compartment, “for small valuables,” he said, though I saw the glint in his eyes when he added, “or a letter, if one must be carried unseen.” Inside he had already placed a tightly rolled ten-pound note, “for emergencies.” I have no idea what sort of emergency he imagines, but I intend to find out.
I behaved perfectly, I think: gloves on, smile measured, not a crumb nor a drop out of place. And yet, it was rather a triumph to realise how little anyone truly noticed me. They spoke as if I were simply another pretty young wife, pleasantly feather-brained and harmless. It’s astonishing how much people will say when they think one too silly to understand.
Mrs Kennedy was lovely. She has that calm, assured kindness of a woman who knows exactly who she is. When she spoke of her church I felt something like home; she squeezed my hand and said she hoped London was kind to me. I nearly told her it depends which London one means.
The dance was my little experiment. I had decided beforehand to ask nothing, to simply look — and see what happened. I chose Captain Maynard because he seemed the only man in the room who still stood square on his heels. I caught his eye across the floor, smiled, and that was all it took. Within a minute he had found someone to introduce us and was asking if I might spare him a turn. He talked easily, almost too easily, but I realised how much he wanted to be listened to. He spoke of the sea, of weather, of peace — always peace — and looked relieved to have said it aloud. I listened and nodded and said nothing clever, and yet he told me far more than he intended. It was almost too easy.
Ned looked so proud when we danced. He pretended not to watch me earlier, but I knew he was counting every step. I think he was pleased — he didn’t scold once, only that little half-smile that means well done, but don’t show off about it. I wrote my report straight away, and when I slipped it under his study door before breakfast I felt quite the secret agent. Imagine me — Honour de Vries, recently a St Clare Prefect, a gymslip miss — carrying messages before dawn!
Still, I can’t quite stop smiling. Perhaps I am good at this — whatever this is. I’ve half a mind to write a little note to Lady Fenton tomorrow. She was horrid at first, but she does talk so freely once she thinks one harmless. If I can make her write as freely, it would please Ned no end. And, if I’m honest, it pleases me to know I might be useful.
For now I shall sleep a few hours and see whether he brings the coffee himself. I rather hope he does. He said he would not wake me gently, and I find I keep wondering just what that means.
Private File Note — D.
15 December 1938, midnight
H. performed admirably. As expected, she carries herself as if she has always belonged in such rooms, as she has been educated to do; now, though, she listens more intently. I watched her speak with Mrs Kennedy and saw that curious spark that passes between women of entirely different kinds who nonetheless recognise one another. Religion is the polite cover for what they share: endurance, discipline, and a taste for managing men without seeming to.
Her choice of Maynard was astute. A naval officer, American, young enough to talk freely, old enough to think himself discreet. She handled him well — too well, perhaps. A glance, a smile, and she had him talking of weather, war, and weariness before the band had played its second waltz. She is learning instinctively what others spend years acquiring.
I must not encourage her too much. She is my wife and hardly more than a schoolroom miss; yet I find myself wanting to — she is unexpected, and therefore could elicit far greater candour than I. She writes, observes, obeys — and all the while learns how to disobey more intelligently.
An exercise in composure and control becomes instruction in the quiet arts of discretion. Do I dare continue down this path? What might be the risks?
The phrase she recorded — “goodwill and exhaustion” — is accurate, perhaps more than she knows. The room was full of tired men, congratulating one another on their illusions of peace when all are hearing the hoofbeats of war..
I cannot quite share their comfort, or hers.