The Sisters of St. Croix (34 page)

“Sister, we must go back upstairs. Sister Elisabeth will be wondering where we are.” She moved towards the main cellar, but Sister Marie-Marc put out her hand to stop her.

“No, she won’t. She’s been called over to the hospital to discuss something with Sister Marie-Paul.”

“But we must finish making the pastry for lunch,” pointed out Adelaide.

“Indeed we must,” Sister Marie-Marc agreed, “and while we do it, you can tell me why I shouldn’t tell Sister Elisabeth what you’ve been doing down here when you’re supposed to be bringing up the coal.” She turned back towards the cellar steps, speaking over her shoulder as she did so. “I should leave your tools down here, they’d be hard to explain to Sister Elisabeth.”

Sister Marie-Marc had turned out to be a born conspirator. Adelaide decided she had to trust her with at least part of the truth.

“I’ve come from England,” she said. “Your friend Terry made it back.”

Sister Marie-Marc’s face lit up. “Terry is safe?”

“Yes.” Adelaide smiled at the nun’s obvious delight at the news. “And he told us how you and Mother Marie-Pierre had helped him escape. I’ve been sent to try and arrange an escape route for other airmen who are shot down.”

“Does Mother know?” asked Sister Marie-Marc.

“She knows why I’m here.” Adelaide paused, not quite sure how to explain.

“But not what you are doing.” Sister Marie-Marc nodded her understanding. “It’s better she shouldn’t know. I will not tell her.”

“Thank you,” murmured Adelaide, slightly amused at this.

“Because if I do,” Sister Marie-Marc went on cheerfully, “she might not let me help you.”

“Help me?”

“Of course, you need someone on the ‘inside’
hein
?” The eyes were bright with excitement.

“I thought you were bound by a vow of obedience,” remarked Adelaide.

“Of course. But I am not disobedient. Mother has not told me I should not help you.”

They continued work on “Terry’s room”, equipping it with a few necessities, most of which Sister Marie-Marc produced from other parts of the convent. There were some candles and matches, a couple of old blankets, two jars for water and the bucket Sister Marie-Marc had provided for Terry Ham’s use. Together they carried in the broken ladder, which was tall enough to enable anyone hiding there to reach the grating in the roof. As they propped it against the wall, Adelaide looked round the room. “Well, I think that’s the best we can do. Let’s see if we really can hide the door.”

They closed the door, and between them dragged an old bookcase in front of it. This hid the door from any casual glance, and in front of this they gradually stacked all the other disused and broken furniture. Each time one of them came down to the cellar for something, she put another piece of the old furniture in front of the bookcase, until it was almost impossible to see anything beyond the stack. They had spread some of the other rubbish into the cellar where the furniture had been, sweeping smooth the scuffmarks they had made while dragging the heavier pieces into place, and to the unsuspicious eye the cellar still looked very much as it always had, a succession of rooms filled with an accumulation of junk.

“If the Boche do see the door, they’ll have to move all this stuff before they can get inside,” Sister Marie-Marc remarked with satisfaction, looking at the old furniture. “That should give time to escape.”

“So it should,” Adelaide agreed, “but once they have broken in that will be an end to it. It will put the whole convent at risk, so I shan’t use it except in an emergency.”

And this, thought Adelaide, as she and Gerard bent in the darkness to prise up the grating, is an emergency. The clink of iron on iron sounded incredibly loud to her but, with their combined strength, the grating lifted easily enough, and was laid aside.

Wedging the crowbar across the opening, Gerard knotted the rope to it and dropped the other end down into the hidden room below.

“I’ll keep watch here,” murmured Gerard. “You go and fetch them.”

“All right,” whispered Adelaide, and, leaving him beside the hole, hurried back to the family. She found them waiting patiently where they had left them, crouched in the deep shadow of a tree. Even as she reached them, Monsieur Auclon grabbed her hand and dragged her deeper into the shadows. He put his mouth to her ear. “Someone is coming!”

Adelaide strained her ears and then she, too, heard something. The sound of a twig cracking, followed by a stifled oath, made her freeze, her back pressed against the tree so that she was lost against the darkness of the trunk. Standing perfectly still, Adelaide strained her eyes into the night to see who was coming so stealthily up the track through the copse. The Auclons were as stone, the little boys pressed against their mother, their faces buried in her skirt, the father standing protectively in front of them. Adelaide could feel that they were poised for flight, and knew that it would be fatal to them all if their nerve failed now. She heard another sound, a foot against a stone, and the murmur of a voice. Adelaide felt a cold chill run down her spine as she realised that there were at least two of them and that they were speaking German. She gripped Monsieur Auclon’s arm, and, pressing her lips to his ear, murmured. “Don’t move unless I say!” Her hand slid under her skirt and grasped the handle of the little knife. The feel of it in her fingers was reassuring; despite its size its honed blade would slit a man’s throat. She waited, poised, in the darkness. At least she had the element of surprise, but the last thing she wanted to do was to kill German soldiers here, where there was nowhere to hide their bodies, where they would be immediately missed. She held her breath… and waited.

The Germans passed within four feet of them, unaware of the trembling group, and continued up the path until they reached the convent wall.

“Stay back,” Adelaide murmured, and moving silently between the trees, her senses straining, she crept after the Germans. Her mind whipped into action. How could she warn Gerard of the men’s approach? At once she dismissed the idea. She couldn’t warn him without giving them all away. She’d have to hope he was on the alert and had heard them coming. Surely he would take cover.

The sky was beginning to lighten now, and, as she reached the edge of the trees, Adelaide could make out the men standing beside the convent wall, two darker shapes against the grey stone. They were edging along to the gate. It was clear they did not want to be heard, so they were not a regular patrol.

So what the hell are they doing? Adelaide’s mind was racing. And what shall I do? If they go much further they’ll not only find the hole, they’ll fall into it! If that happens it’s all over.

Make a noise and run? I should be able to lose them in the dark of the copse, and, if they’re following me, Gerard should be able to get the Auclons safely into the hidden room.

She was about to reveal herself, to draw them off, when they stopped. They had reached the closed wooden gate that led into the convent courtyard. Even as she watched, Adelaide saw one cup his hands as a step and hoist his mate up and over the gate. The man waited for a moment and then the small side gate was opened and he disappeared inside.

The sound of an angry squawk from the henhouse told Adelaide what they were up to; stealing chickens. Moments later the gate opened again and the two men came out, stifling laughter, and each with a hen under his arm. With no attempt at stealth now, the two of them set off down the hill at speed, and Adelaide could hear them crashing through the bushes as they made their escape with their prizes.

Poor Sister Marie-Marc, thought Adelaide as she heard them go. That’s the third raid on her henhouse.

The men’s noisy flight told them they were safe for a moment, and Adelaide collected her charges from their hiding place and led them out across the open ground to where Gerard was coming to meet them.

“What was all that about?” he hissed as they reached him.

“German soldiers stealing chickens,” she replied briefly. “Too busy thieving to notice us.”

“Thank God for that!” Gerard turned to the Auclons. “Come on, nearly there!” He led the way along the wall, past the wooden gate, to the open entrance to the hidden cellar. “You first, Madame.” He held out his hand to Madame Auclon. “Sit on the ground, hold onto the rope and lower yourself down.” Madame Auclon did as she was told, and the children, one after the other, followed her into the comparative safety of the cellar. Adelaide hauled up the rope and lowered each of the baskets of food Monsieur Auclon had been carrying. She leaned down and placing her face through the opening spoke softly. “The sisters won’t know you are here. You must keep the children as quiet as you can, your lives may depend on it. Any sound in that room could well be heard from out here. We’ll get back to you as soon as we can. Good luck.”

“God bless you, Mademoiselle,” came the whisper from below.

Adelaide moved away from the opening so that Monsieur Auclon could slip down into the cellar, but he paused on the edge. “Thank you, Monsieur Launay, Mademoiselle Antoinette.”

“You shouldn’t be too uncomfortable if it’s only for a few days,” Adelaide said softly, taking his extended hand. “When one of us comes to you, we’ll push two twigs down through the grating so you’ll know it’s us. You may hear noises in the cellar, but don’t panic, just keep the children quiet. You can bolt the door on the inside and you should be safe. If someone tries to break in through the door, get out this way. The grating should move fairly easily if you push hard enough. Remember, at most you’ll have three or four minutes to escape.”

Jean Auclon nodded, and taking a grip on the rope slid down into the cellar below. Gerard and Adelaide replaced the iron grille, its marker bush still protruding through its bars. A few dead branches completed the camouflage, and leaving the little family concealed there, they crept away, stealing through the grey light of dawn back to the farm.

Gerard hurried into the house to reassure Marie that they were safely back, while Adelaide put the crowbar and the rope back into the barn. As she reached the back door, left ajar for her, she heard raised voices. Gerard was shouting.

“What the hell’s going on? What are you doing here? Marie?”

Adelaide edged round the back door and paused in the scullery, out of sight of anyone in the kitchen. Another man spoke, a voice that Adelaide did not know.

“All I want is some information,” the voice said. “Then no one will get hurt. Your wife here refused to tell me what I need to know, so I waited for you. I’m sure you don’t want me to take her eyes out, do you? Life’s difficult enough just now without having a blind woman to look after.” The voice was soft, almost cooing as it spoke, and was all the more sinister for its lack of emotion.

“All you have to tell me is where the Auclon family is hidden. No skin off your nose. They’re Jews after all… scum.”

“You’re the scum,” exploded Gerard, “collaborating with the Germans.”

There was a muffled cry of pain and Gerard cried out. “No, no!”

Adelaide moved softly to the scullery door, putting her eye to the crack of the hinge so that she could see part of the kitchen without being seen. Marie was sitting on a chair, her back to the window; a rope lashed her firmly in place, her mouth was stuffed with a handkerchief. Her eyes wide with fear, she strained away from the man who stood behind her. Adelaide recognised him at once as Alain Fernand, the man she and Marcel had seen in the wood; the man snooping round Étienne’s farm. He held a knife to Marie’s face, the blade caressing her skin. His threats were clearly not idle, she already had a stark red line across the pallor of her cheek, from which blood oozed and trickled down her neck.

“Just tell me where you’ve hidden the Jews and you’ll hear no more about it. I won’t tell the Germans that you helped to hide them.” His voice hardened and he went on. “Don’t make me have to cut your wife any more, Launay. You’ll tell me in the end… why put her through the pain first? And don’t even think of rushing me, or my knife goes straight through her eye… and into her brain.”

Adelaide couldn’t see Gerard, but she guessed he must be just inside the door. There was no way he could reach Marie in time if Fernand was prepared to carry out his threat, and from the sound of his voice Adelaide knew Fernand was enjoying himself; enjoying the fear he induced, enjoying the power he wielded.

“I know that fool Étienne must have been hiding them all this time.” Fernand’s voice returned to the conversational. “How he managed it for so long I can’t imagine! Still, I sniffed them out and here we are. Now, don’t waste any more of my time, Launay, or your wife will suffer.” Even as he spoke he flicked the blade carelessly across Marie’s other cheek.

Adelaide’s thoughts were racing. A diversion! She must cause a diversion. She couldn’t reach Marie either, but she could perhaps cause a diversion so that Gerard had some chance to attack Fernand. Grabbing one of the stone jars Marie kept butter in, Adelaide stepped out into the yard and hurled it with all her strength at the kitchen window, which shattered with a crashing explosion of flying glass. Even as the window disintegrated, Adelaide was back through the scullery and into the kitchen. There was glass everywhere. Fernand had spun round as the window exploded behind him and Gerard had launched himself across the room, knocking Marie and her chair to the floor. He was grappling with Fernand, trying to grab the knife. But Fernand was younger and stronger; his grip tight on the knife, he forced Gerard down to the floor, the blade thrusting ever closer to the older man’s head. Adelaide was across the room in a flash, her own knife already in her hand. With a swift and merciless blow, she drove it hard between Fernand’s shoulder blades. Fernand gave a grunt, stumbling forward and Adelaide jerked the knife free, only to drive it once more into the collaborator’s back. Fernand collapsed onto the floor, a dark stain spreading across his jacket; the knife he had been grasping skittering away across the flagstones. Gerard took one look at him and then catching up the dropped knife rushed over to Marie, still lashed to the overturned chair. Swiftly he cut her bonds and pulled the grubby handkerchief out of her mouth, gathering her into his arms as she began to sob.