“Before we begin, please listen to a personal message for Our Prudent Friend: The Fox is in the Hen House. The Fox is in the Hen House!”
“Really? Uh, I mean, Zanthus!” Ms. Henderson said the codeword to confirm receipt of the message. She could hear the man on the other end of the line snickering as she hung up the phone. She dashed back the safehouse in Edenham as fast as she could with bare feet. She’d need to catch Prudence before she left. “Before we begin” was code for “do not proceed”.
When she got back, Prudence was packing her spartan collection of toiletries back into her handbag, preparing to move on to the next stop in the underground.
“You may as well get comfortable here for now,” Ms. Henderson said. “We’ve just been told to pause all plans for the time being.”
“What? Why?” Prudence said, alarmed.
Ms. Henderson wouldn’t tell her exactly why. She didn’t even know the entirety of it herself.
“I can’t go into the details, but something is happening in the Village. It could change our plans by a lot, depending on how it works out. I’ll know more tomorrow morning, but you’ll need to stay here another night.” Prudence looked crushed, and Mrs. Henderson empathized her disappointment. “I know it’s one more day and it’s miserable here, but we wouldn’t want you to move on when we can’t know how safe it would be.”
Prudence gave her a forlorn nod. “I understand.”
“Buck up, dear,” Ms. Henderson said. She reached up to pick a twig out of Prudence’s Garden District hair-do. “This could make things go a lot faster.”
—
The next morning, Ms. Henderson reported to the phone box early and waited for the call to come in. When it did, she snatched the receiver up before the phone could even finish its first ring.
The line sounded dead for a moment before the man on the other end spoke.
“Please… listen to a personal message for Our Prudent Friend: The Fox has gone to bed. The Fox has gone to bed.”
Ms. Henderson’s optimistic excitement died in her chest. She stared at the phone silently, trying to guess what the specifics might be, how “to bed” the Fox had gone and what that could mean for them.
“Agnes?” the man on the phone said after she’d been quiet too long.
“Zanthus,” she said flatly, hanging up the receiver.
It was time to send Their Prudent Friend to the tea party.
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