The Sisters of St. Croix (26 page)

Terry dutifully tucked his hands into the wide sleeves and tried walking across the room without letting more than the toes of his boots show. Sister Marie-Marc giggled, and he treated her to another grin.

“Who’s going with me?” he asked anxiously. “I’ll be putting them into danger.”

Reverend Mother had been considering this. She wanted as few people as possible to know that he had been staying in the convent. The plan was that he, and whoever she sent with him, should set out at dawn and walk into Albert, from where they could take the train to Amiens. She wanted them well away from the village before people were about. She was praying that they would not be stopped, at least until they had reached the town, but she had to send someone who could deal with any problems on the way. She wished Sister Danielle was back. She looked across at Sister Marie-Marc but dismissed the idea at once. She was too old to make such a journey, and she spoke no English, so she wouldn’t be able to communicate with her charge. In any case she could not think of a reason why she might send Sister Marie-Marc to Paris.

“I’m not sure yet,” she admitted.

“Can it be her?” he asked nodding in the direction of Sister Marie-Marc. “I know her.”

“I don’t think so,” she began, but was surprised when Sister Marie-Marc spoke at the same time.

“Who will go with him, Mother?” she asked. “Will you send me?”

“No, Sister, not you.” The nun started to protest. “You could not walk all the way to Albert, and you do not speak any English, and,” she added firmly to prevent further argument, “I shall need you here to be my eyes and ears while I am gone.”

“You’re going?” Sister Marie-Marc sounded incredulous.

“It is the only answer,” replied Reverend Mother. And indeed, she had recognised in that instant, it was. “I shall take Terry on the train to Amiens and leave him in Father Bernard’s care. We don’t want anyone else to know that he’s been here. Then if the Germans do come back, well, the sisters will all be as innocent as they seem.”

“All except me,” remarked Sister Marie-Marc.

“I know I can rely on you to be the picture of innocence,” smiled her superior. She turned back to Terry and spoke in English. “I will be going with you as far as Amiens. But we will have to wait another day so that I can organise the trip without it looking suspicious to anyone here.

“I shall tell Sister Marie-Paul that I am going back to Paris to fetch Sister Danielle,” she explained to Sister Marie-Marc, “that I don’t want her to travel alone in such uncertain times… which indeed I do not. I will set out very early in the morning, alone. You and Terry will leave before it gets light and wait for me on the other side of the village. Then we shall go on and you will come back.”

“But Mother…”

“It is decided, Sister.” Mother Marie-Pierre spoke in a tone that brooked no argument. “I have lost Sister Eloise, I will not put anyone else at risk.” Turning back to Terry Ham, she went on: “We’ll get you a razor and some hot water to shave.” She gave him a brief smile. “Make sure it is a close shave,
hein,
your life may depend on it.”

Thirty-six hours later, Sister Celestine let Reverend Mother out of the front door into the cold grey of a November dawn. In her pocket she carried her own papers and those of Sister Marie-Joseph, which she had neglected to return to the young nun.

“God go with you,” murmured Sister Celestine as Mother Marie-Pierre paused on the threshold. “Bring Sister Danielle back safely to us.”

“Thank you, Sister, I will.” Sister Marie-Paul had accepted the story that she was going to fetch Sister Danielle as she did not want her to travel alone.

“But you will be travelling alone, Mother,” she pointed out.

“That is my risk,” replied Mother Marie-Pierre, “I do not want Sister Danielle to take that risk unnecessarily.”

“I understand,” said Sister Marie-Paul, thinking even as she smiled that Reverend Mother was clearly feeling guilty about the fate of Sister Eloise. And so she should, she thought. “I will see to things here while you are away, Mother.”

Now, with her cloak drawn round her shoulders, Mother Marie-Pierre hurried along the path through the copse, and then, taking the track by the river, skirted the village and joined the road beyond. As she passed behind the outlying houses, their shutters still closed against the night, her eyes searched the lanes and gardens for any sign of an early German patrol. She saw no one and could only pray no one saw her.

Where the path met the road, she found Sister Marie-Marc and Terry, carefully attired in habit and hood, waiting in the shelter of a hedge. From a distance Mother Marie-Pierre certainly could not tell that the taller of the two nuns was a man, and even when she drew near it was not immediately apparent.

As she came up with them she spoke in a low voice. “Everything all right?”

“Easy,” replied Sister Marie-Marc, her eyes alight with the excitement of it all. “We slipped out of the back gate. No one saw us go, it was still dark and there were no lights on in the house.”

“And you saw no one on the path?”

“No, Mother. No one.”

“Good,” replied Reverend Mother. “Now you must go back quickly and try not to be seen coming in at the gate.”

Sister Marie-Marc shrugged. “I will collect eggs,” she said. “My naughty hens often lay outside the gate at the edge of the field.”

“Have a care,” her superior warned, resting a hand on her arm. “This is not a game we are playing, Sister.”

Sister Marie-Marc bowed her head slightly. “No, Mother. I’ll be careful,” she promised.

Reverend Mother gave her a brief smile. “I know you will, Sister. God willing, I’ll be back in two days with Sister Danielle.”

As Sister Marie-Marc turned away, Terry caught her hand. “Mercy, Sister, mercy for everything.” Before she could pull away, he planted a kiss on her hand. She snatched her hand away, but she smiled at him before she turned back along the footpath.

“I’d have kissed her proper, on the cheek, if it hadn’t been for this hat thing,” Terry said as he watched her go.

“It’s a good thing that you didn’t,” remarked Mother Marie-Pierre tartly. “Nuns don’t kiss each other, and you could have been seen. Now, Sister, ground rules. Don’t speak from now on. For any reason. You never know who will overhear. If we meet anyone, let me do the talking. Keep your eyes down, don’t make eye contact, and when we are standing still anywhere, keep your hands in your sleeves. It’ll be all too easy for you to give yourself away, so concentrate on being a nun all the time, whether there is anyone there or not. And do not speak. Understood?”

Terry Ham gave her an impish grin. “Yes, Mother,” he said in a demure voice.

“Good,” replied Mother Marie-Pierre with asperity, “for our lives may depend on it.” Then she added, “If by any chance I address you as
ma soeur,
you simply nod, as if in obedience, all right?”

“Masseur?” Terry grinned at the word.

“It means I’m calling you ‘Sister’. All right?”

“Masseur,” repeated Terry obediently. “I’ll remember.”

It took them two hours to reach Albert, following the twisting lanes and taking footpaths wherever possible. At the station Mother Marie-Pierre bought two tickets for Paris, but then they had to wait for a train. No one could tell them when it would come, so they joined the crowd on the platform. The station was crowded, and there were plenty of German uniforms among the civilians. Terry did as he’d been told and stood in silence, head bowed, eyes on the ground, with his hands tucked into his sleeves.

“Excuse me, Sister,” came a man’s voice from behind them. Mother Marie-Pierre turned sharply to find herself face-to-face with a German officer. “Please, do take my seat on the bench.” The German, who had spoken in fluent if accented French, indicated the wooden bench where he had been sitting.

Although her heart was pounding, Mother Marie-Pierre managed to keep her voice steady. “Why thank you, sir. We’d be most grateful.” She touched Terry on the arm and edged him towards the bench. “Come, Sister, let’s take the weight off our feet while we can.” As she had spoken in French, Terry had no idea what she had said, but hearing the word he had been waiting for, he nodded, and following her example sat down on the bench beside her.

The German major seemed disposed to make conversation, and asked where they were going. Mother Marie-Pierre produced the story she had rehearsed; that they were going to the mother house in Paris, as Sister Marie-Joseph had been asked to help with the nursing there. The German turned politely to Sister Marie-Joseph, but found that she had her head bowed, her rosary beads in her fingers, and was murmuring prayers under her breath. Embarrassed, the major looked away, peering along the platform to see if there was any sign of the train coming. Even as he looked there was a puff of smoke in the distance, and the crowd on the platform surged forward. Mother Marie-Pierre placed a warning hand on her companion’s arm, waiting for the major to move away. She had no wish to share a compartment with him all the way to Amiens.

She need not have worried. The major had felt a fool when he found one of the nuns was actually saying her prayers, in public, on a station. He did not want to share a compartment either. Far too embarrassing if she started to pray again.

The two nuns clambered up into the train, but, as they had held back for a moment or two, there were no seats, and they had to stand in the corridor. Wedged between a large woman with a basket and fat man in a shiny suit, they rocked with the train as it trundled slowly out of the station. The journey was slow, but uneventful. There were no spot checks, for which Mother Marie-Pierre gave thanks, as at such close quarters it was likely that even the most short-sighted inspector would notice that there was little similarity between the picture on the second nun’s papers and the person it purported to represent. It was with great relief that they climbed down from the train when it finally reached Amiens. Here too the station was busy, as the train disgorged its passengers to add to the crowd waiting not so patiently to board the train.

“Keep close to me,” murmured Mother Marie-Pierre as she edged her way through the crush towards the exit. Terry nodded, and shuffled along behind her, trying to keep his boots hidden below his habit. There was a long queue at the gate, where two German officers were checking documents. Mother Marie-Pierre paused, allowing several people to pass in front of her. Terry waited at her side. The people in front filtered through the checkpoint and the two nuns moved forward. As they reached the gate and Mother Marie-Pierre presented the two sets of papers, Terry stood demurely behind her, eyes lowered, hands in sleeves.

“I thought you were on your way to Paris, Sister,” said a loud voice behind them. Mother Marie-Pierre turned round to find the German major at her elbow.

“We are, Major, but I have an errand to run for Reverend Mother in Amiens on the way.” Mother Marie-Pierre’s thoughts were racing. Her excuse sounded lame even to herself, but something at the back of her mind warned her to say as little as possible.

“Oh, you have a convent here in Amiens?” asked the major.

“No, but we have links with some of the parishes here.” Mother Marie-Pierre summoned a smile to her lips and turned back to the soldier scrutinising their papers. He was now holding them out impatiently to the two nuns, who were clearly known to the major and thus hardly a threat to security. Reverend Mother took the papers with a quiet “Thank you”, and pushing them into the pocket of her habit gave the major another, more spontaneous, smile, then turned to Terry. “Come along,
ma soeur
.”

Masseur! Again, Terry heard the word he’d been waiting for and nodded dutifully, before tripping along behind her as she strode out into the street.

Knowing how conspicuous they would be even on the crowded streets in the centre of the town, Mother Marie-Pierre turned into a side street as soon as she could, so that the German major, who had come out of the station behind them, should not follow their progress.

Twenty minutes later they were standing outside the Church of the Holy Cross. The street was quiet and no one paid any attention to the two nuns as they pushed open the door to the empty church. The faded light of the winter’s day hardly penetrated the ornate windows, and in the gloom the red sanctuary light glowed before the altar. In the Lady Chapel several votive candles flickered in the draught from the door, but there was no sign of anyone else in the church.

Mother Marie-Pierre led the way into a pew at the back and knelt in silence for a moment or two. Terry did the same. She sat back. “You did very well, Terry,” she said softly. “Especially when the German came up to us on the platform. Pretending to say the rosary was a clever move.”

Terry laughed. “I wasn’t pretending, Mother, I was praying like hell!”

Mother Marie-Pierre couldn’t repress a smile at his forthright answer. “I should continue to do so,” she said. “You wait here. Stay on your knees with your head bowed and then even if someone comes in, they won’t bother you. I’m going to find Father Bernard. We’re in his hands now. If he won’t help, I don’t know where we go from here.”

“You’ll go to Paris and fetch your Sister Danielle,” Terry replied promptly. “And I’ll disappear into the woodwork.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. All right?”

Terry nodded and remained on his knees as she left the church and crossed the road to the priest’s house.

Madame Papritz opened the door as before, and immediately recognising her visitor led her straight through to Father Bernard, who was working in his study.

“Mother Marie-Pierre!” he exclaimed as she was ushered in. “What a lovely surprise!”

Mother Marie-Pierre smiled. “Thank you, Father. I hope you’ll think so when you’ve heard why I’m here.”

The priest’s smile faded. “I see, well you’d better tell me.”

Mother Marie-Pierre knew that having come here she had to trust Father Bernard implicitly. He could do one of three things, he could inform the German authorities about them, he could remain silent, but send them away, or he could offer his help in some way. Mother Marie-Pierre had gambled on the last, but if her trust were misplaced, then she and Terry were in trouble.