The Sisters of St. Croix (44 page)

Adelaide allowed her surprise to show. “I’m sorry, Sister,” she said, “but Sister Elisabeth said that Mother wanted to see me.”

“And so I do,” Sister Marie-Paul replied smoothly. “I am Reverend Mother, now, Adèle…”

“But Mother Marie-Pierre…?” began Adelaide.

“Mother Marie-Pierre is no longer living in the convent. In her absence, the sisters have chosen me to carry on her work.” There was the faintest pause, as if Adelaide might comment, then she went on. “Now, I’ll come straight to the point, Adèle, with regard to your position here. I am afraid that is terminated from today. We no longer require your help. I am sure Mother Marie-Pierre warned you that the job would only be temporary.” She reached into a cash box that stood on the desk. “Here is what you are owed for this week,” she said, handing Adelaide some folded notes. “Please leave the convent now, straight away. I wish you good day, Mademoiselle.” Sister Marie-Paul picked up a paper that was in front of her and began reading it; the interview was clearly over.

Being dismissed suited Adelaide very well, but she gave a heavy sigh as she put the money into the pocket of her skirt, and with a quiet “Good day, Mother”, she left the room.

As the door closed Sister Marie-Paul looked up again, thoughtfully. Sister Celestine, so often Sister Marie-Paul’s eyes and ears within the convent, had reported to her that she had seen Adèle wandering about after curfew. Clearly the girl was up to no good, and Sister Marie-Paul wanted no further trouble with the Germans. Better to get the girl out of the way and arrange other help for Sister Elisabeth in the kitchen. The sooner she was out of the convent, the better.

Adelaide did not, however, leave the convent, not immediately. She went quietly along the passage to the chapel. When she opened the door she was hit by the smell of incense and the warm glow of candles. Despite the wartime shortage of the latter, the nuns had not stinted for Sister St Bruno. Her plain wooden coffin stood on a trestle before the altar with candles at her head and feet and more burned on the altar. Sister Danielle was the sister kneeling and keeping watch, but she did not look up when Adelaide quietly took a seat in a pew near the door. The silence lapped round her, seeping into her mind and her heart. She thought of Joseph and Janine who had been taken from this very place the night before; and what would happen to them. She thought of her aunt, Sarah, who with the faithful Sister Marie-Marc had been arrested too. What would become of them? And she thought of her Great-Aunt Anne, lying in the wooden box in front of her, dead, simply because some German soldier had casually kicked her in the head.

She thought of Marcel and hoped that he could get her out of the area very soon, but before she went, she had one thing she needed to do. Her hatred of Hoch flooded through her veins like melt water, turbulent, icy cold and powerful. Before she left she would do her damnedest to make sure he hunted down no one else.

Chapel was not the place to plan revenge, so Adelaide said silent goodbyes to her great-aunt, and getting quietly to her feet slipped out of the chapel and out of the convent.

Once outside, Adelaide hurried back to the village. It was a risk appearing in the village itself, but she had to discover what had happened to Sarah and poor Sister Marie-Marc. As she came into the square she heard the sound of an engine behind her, and turned to see a covered lorry, swastikas emblazoned on the sides of its canopy, grinding down the hill behind her. She stepped hastily out of its way and watched as it swept up in front of the town hall. A little crowd of onlookers gathered as people paused to watch what was happening. When the lorry came to a halt one soldier jumped down and went into the town hall while another circled to the back of the truck, his rifle trained on the tied-down flaps.

Adelaide joined the group watching as four prisoners were brought out from the cells beyond the town hall. More guards followed, and, covered by their comrades, two of them untied the flaps that sealed the lorry. There were shouts and cries from inside, and as the flaps were raised, Adelaide could see the pale faces of the men and women who were already crammed into the truck. Some covered their eyes at the sudden sunlight, others reached out, begging for water, calling for help.

One of the guards jabbed at them with his rifle, shouting. “Get back! Get back I say, or I’ll shoot.”

Adelaide stared in horror at the prisoners being brought to the lorry. The Auclons, dressed only in their ragged underwear, staggered forward prodded by the rifles of the guards, their arms round each other for support. They were followed by the two sisters. Mother Marie-Pierre was almost carrying Sister Marie-Marc, who stumbled along beside her on unsteady legs, her eyes glazed with incomprehension. Both were battered and bruised, their faces swollen and blood-smeared, and although they were still dressed in their habits, neither had her head covered. Colonel Hoch, Adelaide realised with another flood of ice through her veins, had spent the night interrogating them.

Hoch had indeed had a busy night. He had come to the cell into which the two nuns had been unceremoniously tossed, and flung wide the door, crashing it back against the wall. Stepping inside he had filled the tiny room with his presence. The sisters, sitting together on the single narrow cot that served as a bed, looked up fearfully. He saw the fear in their faces and he smiled. Fear he enjoyed; fear would get him what he needed to know.

“Stand!” he barked. The two nuns obeyed, the older of the two swaying a little unsteadily on her feet. Reverend Mother reached out a hand to steady her, and Hoch, watching the instinctive gesture, knew on whom he should concentrate, who would crack.

He turned to the soldier who had followed him to the door. “Shut the door, lock it, and wait outside.”

The man saluted and pulled the door closed with a clang. Hoch waited until he heard the bolt drawn across before giving his attention to his prisoners.

On his orders they had been taken through the German HQ to the police cells, and there he had let them stew for over two hours. It had given them time to consider their fate before they were interrogated, which, he knew, made interrogation more fruitful.

Hoch was angry. His raid on the convent had only been partially successful. He had received information that a family was being hidden there. A young woman and a child had been seen after curfew near the convent, and it was suggested that it might be the Auclon family. He had hoped the raid would deliver the whole family into his hands, and although he now had the parents locked up, the children seemed to have eluded him. He had hoped to arrest the young woman, whoever she was, at the same time. He’d been right, she had been there, but his idiot, incompetent men had allowed her to slip through their fingers. The cellar had quickly been discovered, disclosing where the Jews had been hidden, how they had been supplied with food, how the children had been removed and finally how the young woman had made her escape from the convent. He had sent men after her, but searching the countryside in the dark had been a waste of time. The woman had vanished, and the men concerned had only been able to furnish the sketchiest of descriptions. Good enough though for Hoch to recall seeing a young woman with the mother superior on a previous visit to the convent, a young woman who might fit. It was one of the things he intended to learn now, one way or another.

Looking at the two nuns standing before him, he realised that their habits gave them psychological protection. Somehow they would feel safe while still dressed in their black robes and white hoods; their dignity would be preserved, their feeling of self.

“You can start by taking off that ridiculous headgear,” he said sharply. “Now!”

Sister Marie-Marc began to protest, but Mother Marie-Pierre simply reached up and began to remove the offending hood, encouraging mildly, “Come along, Sister. Do as the colonel asks.”

Sister Marie-Marc was used to obeying Reverend Mother and without further protest, but with shaking hands, she did as she was told.

“And that cap thing!” snapped Hoch when they stood there, hoods removed, but heads still encased in the tight-fitting wimple and wide starched collar.

“Is that really necessary?” Mother Marie-Pierre asked. She remembered how Sister Eloise had looked, diminished and vulnerable with her cropped hair standing in a spiky halo about her head, and she knew it was part of Hoch’s intimidation tactics. She had no illusions about his interrogation methods and she was afraid. But she had to be strong for Sister Marie-Marc, to give her the courage they would both need from now on.

“Don’t make me ask twice,
Reverend Mother
.” Hoch spoke softly, menacingly. “Remember, I have men outside who would be only too delighted to discover if a nun was the same as any other woman under all that black bombazine.”

Mother Marie-Pierre undid the wimple, but left her collar in place, and Sister Marie-Marc did the same. Their heads were revealed, Mother Marie-Pierre’s hair in tiny cropped curls, Sister Marie-Marc’s scalp almost bald, with only wispy hair above her ears.

Hoch smiled at what he saw, two women, one of them old and scrawny, one in middle-age, the mystery of their calling shed with their hoods. Two very ordinary women, both afraid.

“Now I can see you properly,” he began, “I’m going to ask you some questions… and I expect some answers.” He fixed his eyes on Reverend Mother. “Where are the Auclon children?”

“I have no idea,” replied Mother Marie-Pierre.

He moved so quickly and unexpectedly that she received the full force of the back of his hand across her face. Almost knocked to the floor, she staggered backwards, and it was only Sister Marie-Marc’s grasping hands that kept her on her feet.

“Wrong answer! Where are the Auclon children?”

“I don’t know.” This time she was ready for the blow, but this time he used a clenched fist to her cheek and nose. Blood spouted and a cut opened up under her eye. Mother Marie-Pierre cried out, her hand flying to her face as the blood poured unchecked down onto her collar. Sister Marie-Marc screamed, and sat down hard on the bed, her legs having given way beneath her.

“Who brought the family to you?” Hoch demanded, ignoring the older nun’s sobs. Mother Marie-Pierre pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and tried to staunch her bleeding nose, but she made no reply.

“You!” he roared at Sister Marie-Marc. “Stand up.”

Sister Marie-Marc struggled to her feet, her face ashen, her eyes wide with terror.

“Who brought the family to the convent?”

Sister Marie-Marc shook her head. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

Hoch raised his hand again and Sister Marie-Marc flinched away, but it was not her that he hit, but her superior, another stinging blow across her other cheek.

“Turn the other cheek!” he mocked. “Isn’t that what you do, you holy nuns? Not so holy now, though, are you? Telling lies. Telling lies to save a family of filthy Jews. Well, let me tell you, you holy sisters, your lies won’t save them. Nothing you can do will save that family.
They’ll
never see their children again, and when
I
find them they’ll follow their parents to Germany. But I need to know where they are, and you are going to tell me.” This time he did hit out at Sister Marie-Marc, knocking her to the floor and then aiming two sharp kicks at her body. The old nun moaned, curling herself into a ball and flinging her arms up to protect her head.

“Stop it! Stop it!” shrieked Mother Marie-Pierre. “She doesn’t know anything!”

“Possibly,” agreed Hoch, “but you do, and if you don’t tell me what I want to know, it will be her who suffers.” He delivered another kick, this time to Sister Marie-Marc’s shaven head.

“Stop it! You’ll kill her!”

Hoch looked down at the figure now lying still on the floor. “Yes, I may. But that is entirely up to you. As soon as I have the information I need, I shall leave you in peace. Now, where are those children?”

Mother Marie-Pierre’s thoughts raced. Sister Marie-Marc couldn’t take much more of Hoch’s brutality. More kicks to the head and she would indeed die. Save her life and risk the Auclon twins? She had seconds to decide. She opted for partial truth.

“I don’t know where the children are,” she said reluctantly, “they were taken away.”

“Who took them?” Hoch’s eyes gleamed as he watched her face, searching out the truth.

“I don’t know. A man came for them.”

Hoch aimed another kick at Sister Marie-Marc’s head, his boot connecting with a sickening thud. “You’re lying!” he said almost conversationally. “It was a young woman. She was seen. Who was she?”

Mother Marie-Pierre paled, but held her nerve. “I don’t know. A man brought them, a woman took them away. I’d never seen either of them before.”

“Oh, I think you had,” said Hoch. “I think it was that girl who was at the convent when I came before. She was seen running away tonight. I have a good description. I think it is the same girl. If you don’t tell me who she is, I shall simply ask up at the convent. There’s a sensible nun up there. I’ve dealt with her before, she doesn’t want any more trouble.” He waited for some reaction, but although Mother Marie-Pierre was shaken at the thought that Adelaide had almost been captured, she was relieved to know she had got away. Surely she would make good her escape from the area as fast as she could. She must know there was no future for her in these parts now her cover was blown.

“So,” he said, “you might as well tell me her name now and save me the trouble of going back to the convent.” Again his hand whipped out across her face, the signet ring on his finger ripping a gash across her chin. Then he glanced down at Sister Marie-Marc still and silent on the floor, and prodded her with his toe. She moaned softly. “She’s still alive… just,” he remarked. “So, now,
Reverend Mother
, let’s start again, shall we? And this time don’t try my patience any longer. Who brought the Jews to the convent? They’d been hiding in a derelict cottage, and then someone brought them to you. Who was that?”

Sister Marie-Marc moaned again. Hoch said, “Please answer my question, or your sister will die.”