Spy limit

Chapter 1 THE NORTHERN END of the great Landing Stage in Liverpool, the largest structure of its kind in the world and now completely rebuilt after the recent disastrous fire, was to be the regular bay for the Pride of Liverpool.  She affirmed her claim to it when, on the morning of Monday the second of August, 1886, she steamed away on her triumphant maiden voyage the one that, on the return trip, ensured her the Blue Riband for the next two years. The band played "Britons, to Sea!" and "Rule Britannia!" for all they were worth, the bunting stirred in the listless summer breeze, and the whole city of Liverpool turned out to watch her slip gracefully away.  She was not the largest steamship ever built (Brunel's Great Eastern, launched some twenty years earlier at almost 19,000 gross registered tons, still towered over all comers for sheer size); but the Pride of Liverpool was far and away the most modern and luxurious and the city was duly honoured to have been chosen as the home port for such a vessel. On the bridge Cap'n Charles was doing his best not to live up to his reputation. He smiled thinly at the ladies, Lady Shaw and the Hon. Mrs Eggar and their several acolytes, who wandered about twittering at each new wonder and getting in the way. The owners' party were, in fact, going only as far as Queenstown, where they were to disembark and proceed to Lord Charleville's estate in King's County for the Glorious Twelfth. Until then, the officers on the bridge would just have to put up with them. Normally, of course, the Pride of Liverpool wouldn't be calling at Queenstown at all since she had no steerage accommodation. "Gangways?" he queried. "All clear and stowed, sir," Wheeler responded. "Let go aft." They were sailing on a rising tide. "Let go aft ..." The order was repeated all the way to the stern. "Quarter speed ahead." The telegraph jangled. The decks seemed to come subtly alive though there was no detectable vibration. Frank's eyes met General Winfred's and received an approving nod. "Let go forr'ard!" It was a command whose utterance he would never forget the moment when the great liner cut her 1 umbilical ties with the land and began what all aboard hoped would be her long and distinguished career.  He handed over command to the pilot, who now controlled her navigation until they reached open water, and crossed the bridge to the landward side, where he gazed down at the ceremony he had just inaugurated. When the great jute hawser went sliding across the stage and fell with a slap against her steel bows, a mighty cheer went up, uniting the crowds ashore and the souls on board for the final time. From now on, give or take the odd nudge from a tug, the Pride of Liverpool was on her own. Down in General Winfred's stateroom Emma heard the roar of the engines, felt the deck begin to hum beneath her feet, and dashed to the window for just one peep. And, of course, it was the very moment Mrs Glover chose to glance in to see that none of her charges was slacking.  "Harding, on report," she snapped and was gone. Too late, Emma dashed back to the wardrobe and continued unpacking Lady Shaw's unending selection of gowns and day dresses. Just her luck! Cissie Williams even smoked in her cabin and was never caught. Joan Bolton dropped her drawers with the Eyetie waiter in the life-jacket store every evening and got away with it. And as for Mavis Hopkinson... but why go on? The only one who got caught was Harding. Dirty fingernails, button missing, hair not tucked into cap and now looking out of window while supposed to be unpacking dresses, "What a wicked gel I is, to be sure," she said gaily. Since she had pulled the wool over Captain Charles's eyes yesterday, nothing could mar her happiness for long. But it had been a sticky moment. "Don't I know you?" says he with a funny, twisted sort of smile. "No sir. I don't think So, sir." "I feel sure I do, Miss Harding. You're from London, I can hear. Have you ever been in the Highbury district?" "Oh yes, sir. I was at a house in Goldsmith's Place. The sausage man." Prepared for everything Mrs Glover's motto. - Something to thank the old battleaxe for! "Ah, that must be it, then. I knew I'd seen you before. I never forget a face!" She hoped her eyes had been twin pools of admiration for his manly superiority, it would help him not to question his amazingly wonderful million horsepower memory in any future moment of doubt. And now she could go on report daily for all the dent it made in her happiness. For this was surely one of the best jobs going in the whole kingdom, for a woman. The envy of the other girls in her lodgings in Union Place when she first heard she'd been picked for training was proof enough of that.  Anyway, what did "report" mean? A finger-wagging from nice Mr McGann. And no liberty in port if you were up more than three times in a voyage. Not that "liberty" was the word for it, anyway. You were only allowed to stay with the Christian Girls' Guild, where Mrs Glover put up, and you had to book in and out with her in fours and say where you were going and why and how long and always back before ten. Some liberty! She held one of Lady Shaw's silk evening gowns to her and did an impromptu waltz, admiring herself in the glass. To her horror, she saw Mrs Glover standing in the doorway once again, staring at her. To her amazement, the woman left her without a word of reprimand. Up on the bridge General Winfred leaned confidentially close to Frank and murmured,