The Sisters of St. Croix (11 page)

The major, who had listened to Adelaide’s interview through a microphone, nodded. Jenner was well known as a talent-spotter and the major had great faith in his judgement.

“Who put you on to her?” the major asked.

“Two sources, which is why I had her in so quickly,” replied Jenner. “One, a group captain she’s been driving on a fairly regular basis, and the other, her cousin, Flight Lieutenant Driver. He’s one of ours. Both spotted her potential.”

“Right,” said the major. “She’s worth a try. We’ll call her up for preliminary training and see how she gets on. If she measures up she could be extremely useful with that fluent French.”

It was only a week later when Adelaide received orders to report to a manor house near Guildford, and on arrival there her life changed out of all recognition. The training was intensive. With four other girls, Adelaide worked from dawn till dusk and sometimes on into the night. Every minute of their day was filled. There was hard physical training, leaving them so exhausted that when they finally fell into their beds they sank into immediate oblivion, only to be woken, it seemed to Adelaide, minutes later to be sent on a five-mile run before breakfast. One army sergeant taught them to handle various weapons; another, unarmed combat. A third drilled them in map reading, while a fourth introduced them to signalling. There seemed so much for them to learn and the pressure on all of them was relentless. After ten days, two of the girls disappeared and did not rejoin Adelaide and the fourth girl, Cora.

“Where do you think they’ve gone?” Adelaide asked Cora wearily as they climbed into bed that night.

“Don’t know,” shrugged Cora, too tired to care. “Probably flunked it.”

“And got chucked out?”

“That, or they asked to leave.” She sighed. “Perhaps they didn’t like what we’re being trained for.”

“But we haven’t been told much about that yet,” pointed out Adelaide as she pulled the blankets up round her chin. “Gosh, it’s cold in here.”

“No, not spelled out,” Cora agreed, “but it’s pretty clear, don’t you think?”

“Undercover work of some sort?” suggested Adelaide.

“I’d put money on it,” Cora said and with a sigh was instantly asleep.

Although she was tired, Adelaide did not immediately follow her friend’s example. She lay in her bed thinking about the things with which they had been bombarded. It didn’t take a genius to work out that they were being prepared for something really special. Their instructors were tough, tolerating no sloppiness or laziness.

“If you don’t get this right first time,” bellowed Sergeant Garner, spinning round on her when Adelaide had fumbled a silent approach, “you’re dead meat, right? No second chances in this game. So, stop thundering about like a bleedin’ elephant and try again!”

“Use your brain!” snapped Sergeant Allen. “You’ve got to out-think your enemy, and you’ve got to do it fast. If circumstances change, you’ve got to be ready to switch course, OK?”

Cora and Adelaide struggled with all that was thrust at them with determination, though there were times when Adelaide felt close to tears with frustration and exhaustion. Their fitness increased a hundred-fold, their brains remained in overdrive as they gradually became more competent. Reactions speeded up, weapons were handled more instinctively. They learned how to use explosives and practised using the wireless, spending hours transmitting to each other in Morse code.

At the end of three weeks they were called up individually to see Major Harper, the officer they had met on arrival, but had hardly seen since.

“Aircraftswoman Anson-Gravetty,” he said when she was sent for. “Come in and sit down.”

Adelaide did as she was told, waiting anxiously on the edge of the chair, wondering if she was going to be told she hadn’t made whatever grade had been expected of her.

“Your time with us is over,” Major Harper said. “This was only preliminary training, just to assess your potential use to us in the field.”

“The field?”

“We are in great need of agents who can be dropped into France,” he explained. “People who can pass for French, so that they can move about with comparative safety, despite the checkpoints and controls set up by the Germans. But that’s just the start. Once someone is there we need them to liaise with any resistance movement that there is in the area. We need to organise escape routes for pilots who have been shot down or prisoners who may escape. We need to sabotage German installations, make life as difficult for the occupying power as we can. There are some strong resistance groups already; we need to find out what they need, give them all the help we can to stiffen that resistance. We need someone to send back all the information they possibly can about troop movements, fuel dumps, weapons stores, factories and what they are manufacturing. We need ears and eyes on the ground to keep us up-to-date on what is going on in every area. Details we can get from nowhere else. We need to boost the morale of the ordinary people, we need to let them know that they have not been forgotten or abandoned.”

Major Harper paused, his eyes had drilled into Adelaide all the time he had been speaking, now he waited. When she made no comment he went on, “We think you have the makings of an agent such as this. Your French is fluent; you could pass for French, and you have done well in all the training so far, but what we are asking you to do takes courage and a cool head in danger. You will be in constant danger yourself, the danger of discovery. Discovery not only from any mistake you might make yourself, but also from those wishing to curry favour with the Germans. We have to face facts that there are all too many French who feel defeated and have decided to throw in their lot with the Germans. If they guess who you are and what you are doing, they will inform on you and you will be caught. Set against that the importance of what you may discover yourself, of what you can do in the areas I have mentioned and you will see that it is not unreasonable to ask you to go. However,” the major paused again to ensure that he had her attention, “we only take volunteers for missions such as these. No one is sent unwillingly, such a person would be doomed to fail.” He fell silent for a moment and Adelaide waited, not sure what to say, or indeed if she should speak at all.

“In the morning you will leave here. If you agree to further training, knowing what that training is to prepare you to do, then we shall be sending you elsewhere. If not, you will have several weeks at a particular establishment, before being posted to a new station to continue the work you were doing before you came here. In either case you will be bound by a pledge of secrecy, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Adelaide just managed to get the words out; her mouth felt dry and her heart was thumping.

“Right, well, I’ll see you in the morning for your answer.”

Adelaide returned to her billet and flung herself down on her bed.

A spy! she thought. They want me to be a spy.

Her heart turned over at the thought. Had she the courage to accept such a mission, to carry it through to the end whatever the consequences? Was this the sort of work Andrew had been thinking of when he said she had special talents? That she should be asked to use her French like this? “Is that what you’re doing yourself?” she murmured to her absent cousin. “I bet it is! I bet that’s where you’ve disappeared to!”

Cora did not reappear that evening, her bed was not slept in, though her kitbag was still stowed in the locker at the end of the room. She must have been sent somewhere else to make up her mind, Adelaide thought, so that we couldn’t discuss things between ourselves.

Adelaide did not sleep that night. She lay tossing and turning, Major Harper’s words churning round her brain. The very idea of being dropped into enemy occupied country terrified her. How could she possibly get away with what they were asking her to do? She remembered the bellowing sergeant. “Get it right first time or you’re dead meat!” Supposing she didn’t get it right? Supposing because of her other people were put at risk? Supposing she were to be captured, how would she cope? Would she be strong enough not to give away any information… under torture? A cold sweat broke out all over her and she lay shivering under the mound of blankets. I can’t do it! she thought in panic. I’m not brave enough! I’d be terrified all the time! I’d be useless.

She remembered what Andrew had once said, that everyone was afraid at times, but it was how they dealt with their fear that mattered. How would I deal with it? Adelaide wondered now. The major said I would need a cool head. Have I got a cool head? If I go how will I get there? Major Harper said something about being dropped behind enemy lines. Dropped? By parachute? Good God, I could never jump out of a plane!

“We need to boost the morale of the ordinary French people,” the major had said. Adelaide thought about her last trip to France, to visit her aunt, Sarah, in her convent. She wondered now how would the nuns be faring under the occupation? What about the children, the orphans living in their care? Where was Andrew? Had he really gone over there too?

The turmoil of her thoughts kept her from sleep and in the end she gave up. Switching off the light, she went to the window and pulled back the blackout. It was still dark outside, but she sat on a chair staring out into the night until the grey fingers of dawn crept across the sky. She watched a startling ray of sunshine, bursting from a sun as yet unseen, but piercing the greyness of the sky like a shining sword. Even as she watched, another joined it and the clouds were painted a brilliant orange, edged with gold. A new day dawning, a new beginning burgeoning with fresh hope. As the sun climbed upward from the horizon, first a half disc of burnished gold, then a full sovereign gleaming in the sky, Adelaide realised that to keep hope alive in a world at war, people had to do things they would never have considered doing before. They had to test their courage as they fought against the evil that threatened to engulf them all. Her eyes drank in the sunrise, and burned it into her brain. It would be a talisman to be conjured up in the future when her heart was low and here courage was failing. The dawn of hope, and she, Adelaide, must be part of it.

Three hours later both she and Cora were on a train to Scotland to begin their real training.

The black car had pulled to a halt in front of the convent door. The driver jumped out and going round to the passenger door, opened it smartly. A German officer stepped out. He was about thirty-five, tall and darkly good-looking, his uniform immaculate. He stood for a moment beside the car, his hand resting on the door, surveying the countryside spread below him before turning round to look up at the convent building. Mother Marie-Pierre watched him from a window, wondering what he was going to want and how she would deal with him. She saw him look at the door as if he expected it to open, but when it did not, he spoke to the driver, who still hovered at his side, and the man ran up the steps to pull heavily on the iron bell. The bell clanged loudly in the hall, and Sister Celestine, now back at her usual place in the portress’s office by the front door, looked up anxiously at Mother Marie-Pierre who still stood, concealed, beside the window. Reverend Mother could see the fear in the little nun’s eyes as they flickered back to the door.

“Go ahead, Sister,” Mother Marie-Pierre said, trying to quell the stab of fear she herself felt as she descended the stairs. “Let them in and show them into the parlour. Then come and fetch me. I’ll be in my office.” As she turned and went back along the corridor, she heard Sister Celestine open the grille in the great front door.

It was only moments later that there was a quiet knock on the office door. Mother Marie-Pierre rose from her prie-dieu and settled herself behind her desk before ringing the bell in answer to the knock. When the door opened, not only was Sister Celestine outside, but also the tall German officer.

“Mother…” began the little nun nervously, but the German swept past her and interrupted, in passable French.

“Good morning, Reverend Mother. I am Major Horst Thielen, Commanding Officer of the occupying force in St Croix.”

Mother Marie-Pierre got to her feet, and still standing behind her desk replied coolly, “Good morning, Major. If you had cared to wait, I would have come to meet you in the parlour.”

“I did not care to wait,” the major said, crossing the room uninvited and staring down into the little garden below.

Mother Marie-Pierre smiled reassuringly at Sister Celestine, who stood white-faced behind the major. “Thank you, Sister. Please would you ask Sister Clothilde to bring some coffee to us here.” She turned her attention back to the major as Sister Celestine scuttled away. “You will have a cup of coffee, Major?”

“Thank you.” The major did not smile but looked round the room, taking in its sparse furnishings; the desk, the prie-dieu with the crucifix above it. The only signs of comfort were the two armchairs that flanked the fireplace.

“Please, do sit down and tell me how I can help you.” Mother Marie-Pierre pointed to one of the chairs. She had decided that calm politeness was the best approach, as if this visitor were no more or less important than any other she might receive. She did not know why he had come, and she felt she must proceed with caution. She resented the cool assurance with which he had come striding into her office, but she had no intention of antagonising a man who might well have the power of life and death over them all. Neither would she show fear, however. She would revert to her earliest training as Miss Sarah Hurst and treat him with the cool civility one accorded to those to whom one would rather not have been introduced.

“We have just arrived in the village, Reverend Mother,” he said. “I am making myself acquainted with the surrounding area.” As he spoke, she looked at him. Good-looking, she supposed, with dark eyes, and a straight nose above a rather thin-lipped mouth; a cruel mouth she decided, and then gave herself a mental shake. How could she possibly know if he were cruel or not, simply from his mouth? Or was it his eyes, not the warm velvety brown of a generous man, but the cold, coal-black eyes of a hunter.