The Lavender Garden (35 page)

“Yes, and we must all make the best of it,” said Sarah. “Now, you lie down and I’ll make you a warm bed of hay.”

When Sophia was finally settled in the hay, Sarah lay down next to her. “You too must sleep, Madame Constance,” Sarah called. “We have a long, hard journey ahead of us. But before I forget, just in case anything should happen to me, take this.” Sarah passed Connie a slip of paper. “It’s the address of the de la Martinières’s château. When you arrive, go directly to the
cave
in the grounds of the domaine. Jacques Benoit, so Édouard says, will be expecting you. Good night.”

Connie read the address, committed it to memory, then lit a match
and burned the paper, grateful for the fleeting warmth on her fingertips. Burying herself in the hay, Connie clasped her hands about her shoulders and prayed for morning to come soon.

•  •  •

When Connie awoke, she saw that Sarah’s hay bed was already empty. Sophia was still fast asleep. She went out of the barn and around to the side to relieve herself, then saw Sarah coming back with a horse and cart clopping behind her.

“This is Pierre, the farmer from next door, and he’s been persuaded to take us down to the station in Maçon. It’s too dangerous to board the train any closer to here,” Sarah said.

Sophia was roused and eventually helped on top of one of the bales of hay in the back of the cart. The driver, a weather-beaten, silent Frenchman, set off.

“These people, they get greedier the longer the war continues,” grumbled Sarah. “Even though I explained to him the young lady in my care is blind, he still charges me a fortune for the ride. But at least I’m assured he can be trusted.”

Connie thought what a pleasant journey this would make in high summer, as the horse and cart clopped through the fields of Burgundy. In a few months’ time, the now-frozen ground would be full of burgeoning vines. They traveled for four cold and uncomfortable hours until the farmer stopped just outside the town of Maçon and turned to them: ‘I must leave you here, I dare not go any farther.”

“Thank you, monsieur,” replied Sarah wearily. The three of them climbed off and began the walk toward the center of the town.

“I am so tired . . . and faint,” moaned Sophia as the two women on either side of her took most of her weight.

“Not much farther, my dear, and we’ll be on the train that will take us all the way to Marseille,” comforted Sarah.

At the station, Sarah purchased the rail tickets and they went to a café just by the entrance. Connie sipped her warm coffee gratefully and chewed on a baguette, even though it was stale. Sophia picked up her coffee, then gagged and pushed it away. On the platform, having sat Sophia down on a bench, Sarah moved away out of earshot to speak with Connie.

“She’s not at all well, is she, Sarah?” Connie said anxiously. “And she’s been like this for weeks now, so it can’t simply be the shock and the hardship of the journey.”

“You’re right. That’s not the problem,” replied Sarah grimly. “Unfortunately, it’s much more serious than that. Look at her: so pale, so often sick . . . did you not see her push her coffee away just now because she cannot stand the smell? Madame, what do these symptoms indicate to you?”

It took a while for Connie to register what Sarah was implying. She put her hand to her mouth. “You’re suggesting that . . .?”

“I’m not suggesting. I
know
. Remember, I must help Mademoiselle Sophia with many things. And there has been no bleeding for weeks.”

“She’s pregnant?” Connie whispered the words in horror.

“Yes, but I don’t know when it could have happened.”
Sarah sighed. “I can’t think of an occasion on which the two of them were unchaperoned for long enough to . . .” Sarah’s words trailed off in disgust. “But I do not doubt it’s the truth. She has every symptom of being with child.”

With a sinking heart, Connie knew
exactly
when the opportunity had presented itself, and it had been on her watch. But not for a moment had she even dreamed that Sophia, being from the background she was, could have done such a thing. She was so innocent . . . a child . . .

No
, Connie corrected herself. Sophia was a woman, full of the same dreams and physical desires as any other—the same age as Connie herself. It was the de la Martinières household, including herself, who had treated her as a child. And—Connie’s stomach turned at the ramifications of the news Sarah had just imparted—she knew the baby’s father was a high-ranking German officer in the SS.

“Sarah”—Connie turned to her—“I cannot think the circumstances could be much worse.”

“No. It’s bad enough she finds herself pregnant out of wedlock, but if anyone discovers the father’s identity . . .” Sarah tailed off, too distressed to continue.

“At least nobody else knows,” comforted Connie as the train pulled into the station and they walked back toward Sophia.

“Madame, you will learn that there is always somebody who does.” Sarah sighed. “And will tell what they know. We must simply concentrate on getting Sophia to a place of safety, and then we can decide what’s best to do.”

Rather than the luxury of first class, the three women boarded third class as befitted their lowly status. The crowded carriage was dirty and smelled of stale bodies. Eventually, the train pulled out and Connie sighed with relief. Every step they took was one nearer to sanctuary.

At each station, Connie’s body tensed. Germans were swarming down to Marseille, fearing invasion from the south of the country, and the platforms were full of troops. The carriage was unheated and uncomfortable, though she could see that both Sarah and Sophia had managed to sleep. Apart from her fear of being apprehended, every time Connie closed her eyes, the horror of four nights ago continued to assail her senses.

At the station before Marseille, the ticket collector passed by, warning that the Germans were on board, checking papers on the train. Connie’s heart thudded in her chest as she roused the others to warn them. Everyone in the carriage was braced for danger, the scent of fear palpable. Connie wondered, as she looked at the motley collection of humanity, just how many other passengers were traveling illegally.

A German officer entered the carriage and barked for everyone to produce their papers. All eyes were on him as he checked each row of passengers. Sarah, Sophia, and Connie were in the last row, and the agony of waiting for him to reach them seemed endless.

“Fräulein, papers!” he snapped at Sarah, who sat on the end of the row.

“Of course, monsieur.” Sarah handed them to him with a friendly smile. He perused them then looked up at her.

“Where were these papers issued, fräulein?”

“At the
mairie
, in my local town of Dijon.”

He read them again, then shook his head. “These papers are forged, fräulein. They do not have the correct stamp on them. Stand up!”

Sarah stood, shaking with fear, and the German pulled his gun out of his holster and stuck it in her stomach.

“Monsieur, I’m an innocent citizen, I do no harm, please . . . I—”

“
Aus!
Out now!”

As Sarah was marched off the train at gunpoint, she did not turn back toward Sophia and Connie. Any signal that they had been traveling together and they too could have been arrested. A few seconds later, the whistle blew and the train moved on.

Everyone in the carriage was staring at where Sarah had been sitting. Connie squeezed Sophia’s hand hard to warn her to say nothing and gave a nonchalant shrug to the others in the carriage. The woman had simply been another passenger sitting next to them.

At Marseille, the two of them left the train to wait for their connection to Toulon. Connie sat Sophia down on a bench on the platform.

“My God! Constance,” Sophia breathed in desperation, “where will they take Sarah? What will happen to her?”

“I don’t know, Sophia,” Connie replied, trying to remain calm, “but there was nothing either of us could have done. At least I trust Sarah not to say a word about us, or who she works for in Paris. She loves you and your family so very much.”

“Oh, Constance, she’s been with me since I was born,” cried Sophia. “How will I cope without her?”

“You have me with you.” Connie patted her hand. “And I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

When the train for Toulon arrived, Connie stepped on with trepidation. If Sarah’s papers had noticeably been forged, then theirs were too. Only by chance had Sarah’s been looked at first and theirs not checked afterward. As the train chugged east across Provence and toward the Côte d’Azur, Connie had to face that Sarah’s protective arm was no longer around her. Sophia’s safety, and her own, now depended entirely on her.

•  •  •

“How are we today?” Venetia asked as she brought Édouard some coffee and placed it by his bed. “We’ve run out of milk. I’m afraid I’ve used up all the tinned stuff I found in the cupboard upstairs.”

“I’m better, thank you, Venetia.”

In the past two days, Édouard had done little more than sleep and eat whatever sustenance Venetia had offered him to try to regain his strength. But, today, his brain was alert and he definitely felt he was on the mend.

“Good,” said Venetia. “Time for a bath, methinks. A good wash always makes you feel more human and will please those who are currently sharing the same quarters with you.” She wrinkled her nose to emphasize the point.

“You think it’s safe to go upstairs?”

“Yes, perfectly. Besides, the bathroom is at the back of the house and has shutters. I’ve enjoyed a candlelit soak every night so far. Heaven!” Venetia stretched and smiled. “Now, drink your coffee and I’ll go and run it for you.”

An hour later, after a long soak, Édouard was indeed feeling refreshed. Venetia had procured some clothes from his bedroom and had applied a fresh bandage to his healing wound.

“Goodness, Édouard!” Venetia commented as he walked down the cellar steps. “You’re awfully tall when you’re upright. Now, I think I’ll have to venture out as we’re down to the cat food in the kitchen. And even I have my limits.” She smiled.

“No, let me go,” he urged.

“Don’t be silly, Édouard. I’m practiced at melting into a crowd, whereas you, Monsieur le Comte, unfortunately stick out like a sore thumb. Leave it to me. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

Before Édouard could stop her, Venetia left by the cellar door, but was back twenty minutes later with two fresh baguettes. For the first time, he ate hungrily and thought the return of his appetite a good sign.

“I’ve been in touch with my network, and they’re coming up with a plan to get you out of France as soon as possible,” Venetia explained. “How do you fancy a sojourn in London? My people have been in touch with de Gaulle’s Free French headquarters over there. They would all very much like the pleasure of your company and a debrief. If we can get you over there in one piece, of course. Just a shame you’re so tall. Your height makes you far more difficult to conceal.”

“But what about my sister, Sophia? And your friend Constance?” Édouard shook his head. “No, I can’t simply abandon them and escape myself!”

“To be blunt, Édouard, for your sister’s sake, it’s probably the best thing you can do. As I’ve mentioned, you’re high on the Boche’s most
wanted list at present. And we’re all hoping your sojourn won’t be for long; plans are still moving forward for the Allied invasion.”

“I wish, in retrospect, that I’d kept Sophia here in Paris with me.” Édouard sighed.

“Well, there’s no turning back now,” Venetia said stoically. “I’ve managed to send a message down south to alert our friends there to your sister’s imminent arrival. They’ll be looking out for her and will assist in any way they can.”

“Thank you, Venetia,” Édouard said gratefully. “I sent them in good faith, presuming I would be able to follow on.”

“Well, you can’t, and that’s that,” Venetia replied briskly. “I saw your face on a fly poster when I was out. You’re famous in Paris, Édouard. You must leave the country as soon as you can.”

“Then you’ll take a risk in helping me.”

“No more than usual.” Venetia raised her eyebrows and grinned. “But it’s time we moved on before our luck runs out. We’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

Édouard nodded reluctantly. “It goes without saying that I appreciate everything you’ve done and are doing for me.”

“Well, Hero,” Venetia replied brusquely to hide her emotion, “from what I hear, given the countless lives you’ve saved in the past four years, it’s my honor.”

•  •  •

Connie pulled a weary Sophia from the train at Toulon station. It was pouring with rain and pitch-black as they emerged from the platform. Connie went to the ticket office and spoke through the grille to the clerk behind it.

“Excuse me, monsieur, but when is the next train along the coast to Gassin?”

“Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock,” the clerk rasped.

“I see. Then would you know of a hotel where we could stay for the night?”

“Turn left and there’s a place on the corner of this street,” said the clerk, looking at Connie’s disheveled appearance and snapping down his blind.

Connie took hold of Sophia’s arm and they trudged along the street until they reached the hotel the clerk had suggested, both of them now drenched by the torrential rain.

Inside, at least the hotel was warm, if shabby. Connie was offered a room at a price that would normally secure accommodation at the Ritz and helped an exhausted and dripping Sophia upstairs. An hour later, after both women had washed and dried themselves as best they could in the limited facilities, Connie led Sophia into the small restaurant and sat her down.

“Nearly home,” said Connie comfortingly. “Please, Sophia, try to eat something.”

Both of them picked at their food, Connie thinking of Sarah, Édouard, and Venetia. She told herself how lucky she and Sophia were to be at least free, warm, and dry tonight. Besides, this was the kind of operation she’d been trained for and she must finally prove her worth.

A voice broke into her thoughts: ‘You are traveling far, madame?”

She turned and saw a young man sitting at the table next to her, watching them both with interest.