I glanced over at the wooden box by the door, and my stomach jumped again. I looked back at Jane, and the excitement came flooding back.

Jane met my eyes at last.

“What have you been up to, Louisa?” she asked.

Jamie:

“Jamie! Jamie Stuart! Hold on a wee minute—”

Ellen leaned out of the Tilly, yelling, as I crossed to the Blenheims beneath the half-moon.

I’d been avoiding her, but I waited as the van pulled up. Ellen was an old friend, a good friend. And here was I, not daring to return a fond greeting in case someone threw it back at me as bad behavior. I felt like a rotten coward.

“Hop in,” she said. “Och, don’t look like that, I’m not going to kiss you again.”

“I’m sorry!” I said. “It’s this bloody new commander. If he thinks I’m fooling around he’ll rake me over the coals, and Dougie Kerr can’t keep his gob shut.”

“Well, I’ve met Cromwell now and he doesn’t like me either,” Ellen said with sympathy. “Hop in, no one’s looking. I’ll take you across in a minute, but I want to talk to you.…”

I threw my parachute, helmet, and gauntlets in the back and climbed in next to her. I ought to be grateful for the short ride; I was geared up, and walking isn’t easy in a flight suit full of Ever-Hot bags topped off with a Mae West.

Ellen put the van in neutral. She reached into a pocket of her ATS uniform and drew out a folded paper.

“Should I read this now?” I asked. The airfield was darkness and inky shadows. The lights would only be turned on for takeoff. Anything that showed might attract German bombers.

“I’ll tell you what it says.” She paused. “It’s a coded message.”

I didn’t know what to think. I sat silent, waiting for her to go on.

“It’s a bit of the message you overheard on the wireless yesterday,” she added in a low voice.

I turned sharply to look at her, but it was too dark to read her face. “How do you know about that?”

“Your gabby new Australian sparks was blethering about it at Mrs. Campbell’s. His pilot shut him up. You were busy buying Tex another beer.”

“Oh, Lord!” Bloody Dougie Kerr. “How did you get it on paper?”

“That was Bill Yorke, your other new sparks,” said Ellen.

I shook my head in despair, and she gave a low, dry chuckle. “It’s like being stuck with a bunch of schoolkids, aye?”

“Half of them are a bunch of schoolkids,” I pointed out. “Is this the best time to tell me? I’m away on an op in ten minutes.”

“Don’t be fashed. It’s not what you think. And I’m not Cromwell.” She took a deep breath. “I know what the message says.”