The Sisters of St. Croix (31 page)

“Well, they’re wrong. Since they found Simone here, they treat us with great suspicion, me in particular. Colonel Hoch organises spot checks. Searches the place without warning. We were lucky he didn’t do so when Terry Ham was here. There have been three raids since then. I am sorry, my dear, but I really don’t think I can help you.”

“Terry mentioned the convent cellars.” Adelaide wasn’t quite ready to give up yet. “He said there was an outside entrance to them, a metal grille or grating somewhere.”

“Yes, we saw the grille from the inside and Sister Marie-Marc has since found it from the outside.”

“Sister Marie-Marc?”

“She was the sister who found Terry Ham hiding in the shed. When he’d gone she went looking for the grating.”

“Why did she do that?” asked Adelaide. “Where was it?”

“I think she had much the same idea as you,” replied Mother Marie-Pierre. “I think she thought we might hide people from the Germans in our cellars, but I’m afraid it is out of the question… and so I’ve told her.” She looked across at Adelaide, her face serious. “Every time the Germans have come the cellars have been thoroughly searched. Anyone hiding in them would be found.”

“Suppose we managed to wall off that section of the cellar?” suggested Adelaide. “The room with the grating.”

“Wall it off?” Mother Marie-Pierre gave a brief laugh. “Adelaide, how on earth would we do that without anyone knowing? The whole convent would know, and the Germans soon after. It would be discovered at once.”

Realising that for the present she would have to concede defeat here, Adelaide changed tack.

“Tell me about this Father Bernard,” she said. “Where does he fit into the picture?”

“He’s the priest at the Church of the Holy Cross in Amiens,” replied Sarah. “I found him quite by accident when I was taking the children to our mother house in Paris.” She explained how Father Bernard had helped with the children. “He was the only one I could think of to turn to when we were trying to get Terry Ham away.” Sarah paused. “There is one other person who might be prepared to help you with what you are trying to do. Madame Juliette, who runs the café in the square. At least she did… in the last war. Her daughter has it now, I believe. Anyway, when I rescued Margot, one of the Jewish children, she hid us both for a while. I don’t know if she is involved with your resistance group, but I do know she is a good-hearted woman who was prepared to risk her life to save a little girl. You might find her ready to—”

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. They looked at each other in alarm for a moment before Mother Marie-Pierre crossed the room and sat behind her desk. Adelaide stood in front of her, and then the reverend mother rang her bell. The door opened and Sister Marie-Paul came into the room. Entirely ignoring Adelaide, she spoke to her superior.

“Colonel Hoch’s car is at the door, Mother. I thought I should let you know.”

Mother Marie-Pierre rose to her feet. “Thank you, Sister, I’ll come at once.” She turned to Adelaide and addressed her in a tired voice. “It’s time you went, Mademoiselle. As I said, I’m afraid there are no jobs in the convent at present. Should the position change I will contact you at your aunt’s.”

Adelaide lowered her eyes. “Thank you, Mother,” she muttered. She followed the two nuns out of the office and back into the hall. Colonel Hoch was already standing in the hallway, admitted by a clearly terrified Sister Celestine.

“Ah, Reverend Mother,” he began, and then caught sight of Adelaide. “Who is this?”

Reverend Mother shrugged. “A girl from the village looking for work.”

“You, girl.” Hoch looked Adelaide up and down as if she were a horse he might buy. “What’s your name?”

“Adèle Durant, sir.”

“What are you doing here? Papers!” He held out his hand and Adelaide took her papers from her coat pocket and passed them to him. He glanced at them. “Why are you here?”

“I came to ask Reverend Mother for work,” Adelaide answered. She kept her eyes lowered, not challenging him in anyway. She knew that this might be the end of her mission before it had really started.

“I might find you work in the Kommandatur,” he said, his eyes resting appreciatively on her neat figure, incompletely hidden by the old grey raincoat.

“I’m sorry, Colonel,” interjected Mother Marie-Pierre, before Adelaide had time to speak, “but I have just given Mademoiselle Durant a job in our kitchens.” Quelling Sister Marie-Paul, who had overheard her refuse the girl any work, with a frown, she went on. “There is too much for Sister Elisabeth to do on her own and Sister Marie-Marc is getting too old to be of much help.” She smiled at Adelaide. “Another pair of hands for a few hours each day will be most welcome. Please present yourself to Sister Elisabeth on Monday morning at 7.30, Adèle, and she will tell you what you are to do. Off you go now.”

It was a definite dismissal and Adelaide gave a little bob and spoke demurely. “Yes, Mother. Thank you, Mother.”

When Alain Fernand discovered where the Auclon family was hiding, he was elated. There had been a big search for them when the other Jews from the village were rounded up, but they’d never been found. Finally it had been assumed that they had somehow managed to get out of the area.

Fernand found them by accident. One evening he was collecting firewood in a stand of woodland beyond the village, when he thought he’d heard voices. Always alert for anything unusual, he put down his sack of sticks and made his way stealthily between the trees, trying to follow the sound. Before he found anyone, the voices had died away, but he had found the cottage. It was deserted and derelict, its doors locked and barred. When he pressed his nose against its dirty windowpanes Fernand could see no sign of life. Disappointed for the moment, he collected his firewood and went home, but his curiosity was not satisfied.

He’d heard voices again a few days later and crept forward to spy. He found a courting couple lying on the ground, the girl with her skirt hiked up about her hips, the man almost on top of her as they kissed. Fernand watched them for several moments before they noticed him. It excited him to watch; he’d like a girl like that. Suddenly the couple realised he was there and they broke apart. The girl burst into tears, and the man looked about to explode, but after a sharp exchange, they had gone off, leaving Fernand alone in the twilight to wonder if they had been the people whose voices he had heard before.

It was the third time he heard voices that he struck gold. He stole silently between the trees and there they were, a man and a woman, with two little boys, sitting outside the cottage. They were very thin and pale, their clothes almost rags, but they sat on an old bench, their faces held up to the last rays of the sun. The two little boys were playing with some sticks in the dust at their feet. Even as he watched, the parents gathered up the children and disappeared round behind the house. Fernand waited for several minutes and then crept stealthily from his hiding place and darted across to the cottage. There were no voices now; and the eerie silence of dusk enveloped the place. He edged to a window, and peering in found himself looking into a gloomy kitchen. It seemed empty, except for a large old kitchen table, a stove and a stone sink. He moved quietly round the corner of the house to look in through the next window. This showed him a bedroom, but there was still no sign of the family. He went on to the back of the house where there was a lean-to shed.

They must be in here, he thought, but when he pushed the door, it opened easily and revealed only a few logs stacked against one wall, some sacks in a heap in the corner and an old canvas bag hanging on the back of the door. His eyes rested greedily on the logs. Fuel was at a premium and he could sell these for a tidy amount. Leaving them for the moment, he returned to the cottage. He circled it again, trying each door, and peering in through all the windows, but with no luck. The family seemed to have vanished.

Fernand knew well who they were. He had immediately recognised Joseph Auclon, the barber, and his wife Janine. Jews. He remembered the round-up of Jews last summer. These must have escaped somehow. Well, they wouldn’t escape this time. Fernand hated Jews. Everyone knew that they always ganged up together against real Frenchmen. Everyone said so. Fernand had, himself, been thrown out of Joseph’s little shop off the village square because he had complained that Joseph had cheated him. Everyone knew that Jews charged more to their non-Jewish customers, and when Fernand had accused Joseph of this, the barber had told him to get out and not to come back. Fernand left the shop, angry. But he’d had the last laugh, he realised. He hadn’t paid at all! Let the money-grubbing Jew put that in his pipe and smoke it.

He went back into the shed, filled a sack with some of the logs and set off home with his loot. He’d come back for more logs, he promised himself, and when he did, he’d bring a crowbar to break into the cottage and see what he could find.

He was back the next evening, and hearing nothing, he crept up to the cottage and again peered in the windows. All looked as it had the evening before. He examined the front door. It was still locked and there was no way he could break it open without a good deal of noise. If the Jews were hiding inside he didn’t want to alert them, so he went round to the back door. This was closed with a heavy wooden bar, locked in place with a stout padlock. Fernand was about to try and lever the padlock away from the bar when he noticed something. He put the crowbar on the ground and ran his hands along and behind the wooden bar. A gleam of understanding showed in his eyes and he smiled. The bar was separate, not attached to the door at all. From a distance it looked as if bar and padlock kept the door firmly locked, but on closer inspection he saw that the door could be opened with the bar still in place. He lifted the latch and pushed. The door didn’t move. It must be locked on the inside. He went back to the window to have a look, but it was at the wrong angle and it was impossible to see. He tried the door again, but it wouldn’t budge.

But the Jews must be in there somewhere, he thought, excitedly. All I have to do is wait for them to come out again.

He made his way back to the shelter of the trees, and finding a sturdy oak at the edge of the clearing climbed into its branches. From this vantage point he had an uninterrupted view of the back door, and he settled down to keep watch. He waited until it was full darkness before he gave up.

Perhaps they don’t dare come out every night, he thought. I’ll just have to keep coming back until they do. I must be sure they really are here before I go to Thielen, or better still, Hoch. Yes, Colonel Hoch was the one who hunted Jews. Fernand’s eyes glittered at the thought of the bounty there might be on a whole family of them.

It was four nights later that he struck lucky. Ensconced in his tree Fernand heard a soft creak and saw that the back door was being opened from the inside. Joseph Auclon’s head appeared, and, having decided that it was safe, he emerged, followed by his wife and the two boys. Once outside, Joseph crossed to the shed and moments later returned carrying a heavy bag. He went straight back into the cottage, only to re-emerge moments later. He still carried the bag, but this time it was empty and he returned it to the shed.

Fernand was exultant. Not only were the family hidden somewhere in the house, they were being supplied with food by someone. He remembered seeing the empty bag in the shed when he had looked in the first time, but it hadn’t dawned on him that it had any significance. He remained in the tree for the twenty minutes or so the family allowed themselves in the fresh air, but as soon as they went back into the cottage and he’d heard the bolt on the inside of the door scrape home, he scrambled down and hurried back to the village.

He was just coming out of the woods when he met a local farmer, Étienne Charbonnier, walking his fields, his dog at his heels.

“Evening, Charbonnier.” Fernand tried to sound casual, and kept walking.

“Hey, Fernand, what are you doing on my land?” demanded Charbonnier, suspiciously eyeing the sack Fernand carried. The dog, hearing the tone of his master’s voice, flattened his ears against his head and growled.

Hearing the growl, Fernand stopped and looked back at the dog nervously. He had never liked dogs. “Keep that dog under control, Charbonnier,” he snarled.

“What are you doing on my land?” asked Charbonnier again, making no move to quieten his dog.

“Just walking,” replied Fernand, his eyes fixed on the dog, whose lips were curled back menacingly. “Collecting firewood.” He indicated the empty sack over his arm.

“Any firewood on my land is mine,” snarled Charbonnier. “Clear off. You’ve no right to be here.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” muttered Fernand, and turning his back on the farmer and his dog, hurried off down the track that led back to the village.

Étienne Charbonnier watched him until he had reached the road before turning back to his own house.

Fernand had returned to the village and by the time he’d reached the German HQ he’d decided his information was definitely too important for Major Thielen and asked for Colonel Hoch. He was made to wait, but at last he was summoned into the colonel’s office.

Hoch was working at his desk when he was told that Fernand wanted to see him, and was surprised. Thielen usually dealt with the likes of him. He wondered what information Fernand was bringing him. He despised him, a snivelling weasel of a man, but useful. He had eyes and ears where Hoch’s men could never go, and the information he had brought in so far had been reliable, if not particularly important. Now he was demanding to see the colonel, saying that he had something very important to tell him. Hoch had kept him cooling his heels for nearly an hour; he had no intention of letting the little collaborator get ideas that he could simply demand the colonel’s time, but he was intrigued all the same.

There was a knock at the door and Hoch picked up a paper from his desk before bellowing, “Come.” The door opened and Fernand came in. Hoch continued to read the paper without looking up, and Fernand was forced to stand in front of the desk, his cap in his hand, waiting for the colonel’s attention. When at last Hoch did look up, he ran his eyes over the man standing before him with distaste.