The Sisters of St. Croix (29 page)

“You must try,” encouraged Monica. “You may not get anything else for some time now, and you need to keep alert… more difficult when you’re hungry.”

Adelaide did as she was told and as she began to eat she found that she was much hungrier than she had thought. Surprisingly the food seemed to quell the butterflies which had been flapping so violently in her stomach, and when at last she was driven to the nearby Tempsford Airfield to board the Hudson that was to take her to France, she found it was yet again the thought of the actual jump from the plane that terrified her, not the thought of what awaited her when she landed.

The jump had been all right, she thought as she lay curled up in the feather bed at the farmhouse. There had been no time to hesitate as she had been almost pushed out of the aircraft. Now, she had to meet up with Uncle Gerard and Aunt Marie, and get herself established and accepted in the village. From now her every thought and word must be conducted in the manner of Adèle Durant, a young girl, displaced by the cruelties of the war.

Gradually, at last, the warmth of the bed overcame her and she relaxed into sleep, and so conditioned was her mind that even her dreams that accompanied that sleep were in French.

Over there, coming in now,” murmured Marcel as he and Adelaide mingled with the crowd who had just got off the train from Amiens. “The one in the black cap.”

Adelaide glanced at the elderly man who had just walked into the station. He paused, as if looking round for someone. She turned back to confirm the identification with Marcel, only to find that he had already disappeared, melted into the press of people the train had disgorged.

Well, Adèle, she thought, this is it.

Crossing to where the old man stood, she called out in a cheerful voice. “Uncle Gerard, Uncle Gerard, here I am!”

The man peered at her and then a smile lit his face. “Little Adèle,” he cried. “It’s been so long. I’d hardly have known you if you hadn’t looked so like your mother.” They embraced, and then the old man held her away from him, studying her face. “So like your dear mother,” he murmured. Then, more businesslike, he took her suitcase from her. “I’ve the horse and cart outside. Do you remember dear old Sunshine? She’s still going strong, thank God. Without her I don’t know what we’d do. There’s almost no fuel for the tractor or my old car. It’s Sunshine and the cart these days.”

Anyone overhearing would have no doubt that the old man was delighted to see his niece… anyone listening. Adelaide fought the urge to look around her to see if anyone was paying them any attention, and joined in the conversation.

“How is Aunt Marie? Is her back any better? Does she still get a lot of pain?”

“She’s not too bad,” replied the old man. “Of course she has pain, but don’t we all when we reach our age? It’ll be a great help to have you there to do some of the heavy work. She’s really looking forward to seeing you again. How long is it? Ten years? Eleven?”

As he chatted on about his wife, he led the way to the station entrance. At the gate was a checkpoint. Police were checking everyone’s papers as they came out of the station and Adelaide felt her pulse quicken as they joined the queue. This would be the first test of the papers that had been prepared for her in London.

When they reached the gate, Gerard handed his papers over first. The policeman gave them a cursory glance before handing them back. Then it was Adelaide’s turn. The papers gave her place of birth as Vire, in Normandy.

“You’re a long way from home, Mademoiselle,” the man said, looking at her quizzically.

“Yes, Monsieur,” she replied, keeping her voice even despite her inner tension. “I have come to stay with my uncle.” She indicated Gerard. Never give more than the minimum information, they had taught her in England. Try to avoid statements that can be easily checked.

“How long are you staying?” asked the man. His eyes slid over her, taking in her face, pretty despite the lack of make-up, her trim figure undisguised by the old raincoat she wore; regarding her not with suspicion, but with obvious lust.

“As long as he needs me,” Adelaide said.

“Hmm, lucky man.” The man licked his lips suggestively, but handed back her papers and allowed her to pass on.

“Animal!” muttered Gerard when they were out of hearing, but the innuendo and the lustful glances had not worried Adelaide at all. She was simply relieved that her documents had survived their first scrutiny. From now on she would present them with more confidence.

“Papers change,” London had warned her. “Check them with Marcel when you arrive and if there have been any recent changes made make sure we know about them.” Marcel had looked at them and pronounced them up-to-date but, even so, Adelaide realised there could always be something that might arouse suspicion.

Gerard led the way to where his horse and cart were standing, waiting patiently in the sunshine not far from the station. He heaved Adelaide’s suitcase into the back, then climbed up onto the driver’s seat and with a flick of the reins they set off on the journey back to St Croix.

They spoke little as they drove, and Adelaide had a chance to study the man who, at the risk of his own life and that of his wife, was providing her cover. He was probably in his early fifties, but looked older with grizzled hair and grey stubble on his face. He had the weathered look of someone used to working outdoors, and although he was a tall, spare man, his shoulders seemed to have sagged, and he had, she noticed, walked with a limp.

Adelaide didn’t know quite what Gerard and his wife knew of her mission. She hoped very little. All she needed from them was the cover of somewhere to live and a reason for being there. That would be risky enough for them, without them knowing exactly what she was up to.

For the last mile or so, they drove along the wide track that constituted the towpath beside the river. Beside an old stone barn, a right fork led them onto another, narrower track. Adelaide could see farm buildings ahead, low and squat, crouching behind a stand of sheltering trees. When they finally reached the farm, Gerard pulled into its yard. “Aunt Marie” emerged from the back door into the yard and stood watching as Adelaide climbed down from the cart. She was a small woman, dressed in an overall, her hair tied up in a scarf. Her face looked worn and tired, but her eyes were still bright as she looked at Adelaide.

“Here she is at last, Marie,” Gerard called as he moved to Sunshine’s head. “The train wasn’t too late.”

“Adèle,” Marie said. “How lovely to see you! I’m so glad you’ve come to us.” She reached up and gave her niece a brief hug. “I was so sorry to hear about your poor mother.”

To be safe they had to live the life they had been given, and Adelaide was relieved to see that her “aunt” and “uncle” were intending to do just that. It was impossible to know who might be watching or listening; a collaborator collecting information to use to his own advantage.

“Always assume you are being watched,” Monica had impressed upon her when they had been studying her legend. “Always assume that there is an informer sitting at the next table, or waiting beside you in the queue. Never drop your guard. These people are your aunt and uncle, it is vital that all three of you remember it
all
the time.”

“It’s lovely to be back, Aunt Marie,” Adelaide said now. “It’s been so long since I was here.” She looked round the farmyard, taking in the cowshed, the half-empty barn, where some chickens were scratching among the hay on the dusty floor. “It hasn’t changed,” she said with a smile. “It’s just as I remember it.”

For the next few days, she learnt her way about and worked extremely hard. Marie taught her to milk, and though it took her a while to get the hang of it, she was soon able to help Gerard with his cows. She carried fodder and mucked out the cowshed. She dug potatoes from the field and heaved them to the house. She collected wood and mended fences. She brought the cattle in and sent them out again. She swept the yard and shovelled dirt. She went with her aunt into the village on market day, to the village bakery to queue for the bread ration, to Mass on Sunday in the parish church. Gradually she became recognised as the Launays’ niece come from Normandy. At the end of each day she almost fell into bed, completely exhausted. But at least she was well fed. There were fresh eggs and milk, and Aunt Marie made cheese and butter. Adelaide’s days were so filled that she began to wonder if she would have any time to do anything else. It was, however, time well employed, as Marie Launay’s neighbours began to say how lucky she was to have her niece staying and helping out.

She found an old bicycle in the barn, its tyres flat, its frame rusty, but with a serviceable saddle, a basket on the front and a child’s seat on the back. Pulling it out into the yard she asked Marie if she could use it to get about.

Marie shrugged. “It’s very old,” she said doubtfully. “It’s the one I used to ride when Victor was little, but if you want to try and mend it.” She shrugged again, considering it a pointless task.

Adelaide worked on the bike, cleaning it, oiling it, trying to mend the punctures. The outer tyres were not too bad, but the inner tubes were in a bad state. Gerard had produced a repair kit, and between them they managed to patch the holes well enough for the tyres to stay up if pumped frequently. It was not long before Adelaide was a regular sight in the neighbourhood, riding the lanes, picking up firewood and carrying it home in the bicycle basket and wedged into the child seat. The errands she ran for her aunt took her to the village and the market as she delivered their surplus butter and eggs. She was often seen at the side of the road, pumping up the slowly leaking tyres, but the bicycle got her about, and no one questioned her exploration of the countryside.

At length Adelaide decided the time had come to make a move. When they were sitting over their evening meal at the end of the day some two weeks after she’d arrived, she made her announcement. “It’s time I went to the convent to see if I can get a job.”

She had had to confide this as her purpose in coming to the area, but she was no longer worried about telling the Launays that much. Over the weeks she had been with them she had come to know them well and knew their history. Gerard had been at Verdun in the last war and had been lucky to escape with only a shattered leg. Most of his unit had been wiped out in the valiant defence of the Bois de Caures, and Gerard had received his crippling wound in the subsequent retreat. When he had returned, wounded, to his father’s farm in 1916 he had almost died; but for the nursing he received from his beloved Marie, he would surely have lost his leg. They had married as soon as he was well enough, and their son, Victor, was born ten months later.

“He was killed on the retreat to Dunkerque,” Marie confided to Adelaide one day when they were working together in the dairy. “Machine-gunned from a dive-bomber.” Her eyes hardened. “A column of men and refugees simply slaughtered from the air, not just soldiers like our Victor, but women and children too.” She turned bleak eyes on Adelaide and now spoke coldly. “Machine-gunned and left dying in the road. Such people are not human. There is not much we can do against them, but what little we can, we will.” Twice the Germans had shattered the Launays’ lives, and now they were prepared to take risks to fight back.

“When Victor died, I thought my life was over,” Marie said. “Now it has another purpose. We’re getting old, but we can still fight in our own way. Just let us know what we can do to help you.”

Understanding their motive for offering her shelter and cover made Adelaide feel a little more secure. Revenge drove them, and their revenge had added strength, because although they knew the risks, they no longer cared for their own safety. They were protecting her cover as their niece, and her arrival in the local community had been greeted with little more than indifference.

“If we’re asked, we will say that we cannot afford to keep you, that you must do something to bring money into the house.” Marie gave a tight smile. “I have a reputation for being careful with my money.”

Since her arrival at the farm, Adelaide had made no attempt to contact Marcel. Indeed she didn’t know where he lived, but assumed it was Albert. She was fairly sure that it wasn’t at the farmhouse he had taken her to originally; that, she thought, was another safe house. It was also unlikely that “Maman” was actually his mother.

All she knew was that if she needed Marcel she had to go to the café, Le Chat Noir, in the
place
in St Croix, wearing a red scarf round her hair. Whoever it was who saw the signal would alert Marcel and he would meet her in the woodland beyond the Launays’ farm the next evening.

The next time she went to the market with Aunt Marie, her hair was caught up in a red scarf. Having made their few purchases they sat at a table outside the café in the spring sunshine and drank a cup of ersatz coffee. Marie chatted easily to the waitress, and Adelaide let her eyes wander round the square, wondering who would be reporting back to Marcel. On the other side of the
place
was the town hall, now the German HQ, its façade draped with a huge swastika. German soldiers were coming and going, but none of them paid any attention to the two women taking the weight off their feet after their marketing. Even so, Adelaide was ever conscious of their presence. It was one thing to practise living a clandestine life while safely home in England, it was quite another to do it for real. Every time there was a demand for her papers, or she heard German being spoken, or she had to step aside to make way for a German soldier hurrying about his business, Adelaide felt her heartbeat quicken. Despite truly living her legend, it would be so easy to make a mistake and give herself away… herself and the Launays.

Marcel was waiting in the woods when she arrived the next evening. They sat down on the grass, their backs against a fallen tree trunk, for all the world like a courting couple looking for a little privacy.

“Settled in?” he asked.

“Yes, thanks,” Adelaide replied. “I’ve been gradually finding my way around, and as far as I know there haven’t been any queries as to why I’ve come. The Launays haven’t heard anything either. Have you?”