Marthe came onto the porch, where Alphonse was occupied in rubbing an aluminum tub. “Why?”
“Don’t know.” He rubbed at a non-existent spot on the sparkling tub. “Do you think that’s good enough?”
“It’s like a mirror,” she said as the aluminum caught the light from the dimming sun.
He sat back on his knees. “That’s what I thought last night. I came in from a heavy day spent in the ambulance, under fire, mind you, and the hospital sergeant told me to scrub out this tub. When I presented it to him, he told me I’d done a terrible job, called me an idler, and then boxed me round the ears. So here I am, cleaning again.”
“Why does everything need to be so immaculate all of a sudden?”
Alphonse threw his rag down. “I’m not sure, but something is definitely happening. The troops in Roulers are all being told similar things.” He looked up at Marthe, his green eyes filled with worry. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this, just as soon as I finish up here.”
She nodded, noting as she hurried home the hue of the verdant grass in the setting sun was not unlike the color of Alphonse’s eyes.
A few days later, Marthe was grabbing bandages from the supply cart when a voice whispered in her ear, “The Kaiser will be in Brussels next week and then is due to pay a visit to Roulers after.”
She nearly dropped her kit before turning to see Alphonse. “The Kaiser?” she repeated, a bit too loudly. She rubbed at the back of her neck, feeling the hairs standing up from Alphonse’s proximity. Both gazed up and down the hallway, but luckily no one was in earshot.
“Yes,” Alphonse answered. “Can you find out the date and time?”
She nodded.
Marthe went through the motions of nursing that day, her mind occupied by the information Alphonse had delivered. She might have guessed that these intense preparations could only be for the Kaiser himself. But how would she get reliable information about such a sensitive subject?
Suppose I could bring about his death. The thought occurred to her at lunch. If it were the Emperor of Germany that had brought this scourge upon them, would ending his life mean ending the war? And who in Roulers would be able to supply the vital information?
Canteen Ma called at the door early the next day. She handed Marthe the weekly vegetables before slipping a pincushion into her hand. Marthe headed to her room and ripped open the message hidden in the cushion:
“The Kaiser arrives in Roulers the latter half of next week for an inspection. Need the time and date etc. to inform Allied aircraft.”
So British Intelligence knew no more than Marthe.
Soon polished officers with tight waistcoats flooded the streets of Roulers with their fancy cars. The General Staff arrived and began barking orders, making sure the heel-clicking of the marching soldiers was loud enough to be heard in Ypres. Their incessant commands to make sure everything was satisfactory for the mighty war-lord put everyone in a bad mood, including Marthe, who was no closer to finding out information on the Kaiser’s visit.
A steely-eyed staff colonel visited the hospital, and the Oberarzt asked Marthe to show the officer around. When Marthe walked into the main office, the colonel rose, clicked his heels together and bowed.
“If you will excuse me, Colonel,” the Oberarzt said, his manner as deferential as always, “a number of cases have been brought to the hospital and my presence is needed in the operating theater.”
“It is no problem,” the colonel replied, rubbing at his fair mustache. He nodded at Marthe. “After you, fräulein.”
The colonel followed as she began the tour. “Everything is so spotless,” he commented upon seeing the German ward. “You must spend every minute you are not with patients cleaning. I suppose if you run out of dinner trays, the patients wouldn’t mind eating off these immaculate floors.” He obviously found himself quite witty, and Marthe indulged him with a smile.
Their tour ended, as they approached the Oberarzt’s office, the colonel asked if Marthe might have lunch with him tomorrow.
He had been very polite the entire tour—he was obviously well-bred, even if he was a German, and perhaps may be a source of more information regarding the Kaiser.
“Certainly, Herr Colonel.”
Lunch was a pleasant, if uninformative affair. After his second schnapps, the colonel swallowed and stated, “Mein fräulein, life must be extremely tedious here in Roulers, especially for a girl of your character and education.” He lit a cigarette. “Would you like to come to Antwerp with me, to experience society and eat decent food?”
Marthe felt her face growing hot. By the way he looked at her, he was not concerned about the food.
His hand reached out and found hers. “Do not be afraid, mein fräulein. I will make it my goal to have your stay be as pleasant as possible. You will not need to worry about getting a special pass.”
The distaste must have lingered on her face for the colonel threw some money on the table. “I will let you think on it.” He rose and pulled her chair out. “You should probably be getting back to the hospital. We wouldn’t want to displease the Oberarzt.”
As they neared the courtyard, the colonel caught Marthe’s arm. “Have you decided mein fräulein?”
She had been thinking about it all the way back to the hospital. The little girl in her screamed No! but the spy, the one who desperately wanted to glean any information she could about the Kaiser’s visit, demanded she explore every possible lead.
“Herr Colonel,” she replied, tilting her head to meet his gaze. “I would indeed like to stay with you in Antwerp.”
He kissed her hand. “Wunderbar.” He pulled on her arm, and Marthe thought he would kiss her had not a couple of soldiers marched past, saluting him as they did so. He dropped her hand. “Take the evening train Thursday. If I am working, an orderly will meet you and take you to my hotel, where a room will be waiting for you.”
“I shall not be able to obtain more than three days’ leave from the hospital,” Marthe replied. As he was talking, she’d been calculating in her head the amount of time she might need to find out the necessary information and then transmitting it to British Intelligence in time for the Kaiser’s visit.
“Mein fräulein, it will be three days of paradise. The pass will be ready for you Thursday morning.” He once again clicked his heels together and bowed before swaggering up the dusty road, away from the hospital. Marthe watched him as if in a dream. Had she really just agreed to travel unaccompanied with this German officer? Why? Had she herself gone mad? The scent of heliotrope from the courtyard garden drifted past her nose reminding her this was no dream. I did it for the sake of Belgium, she told herself.
“Ahem.”
Marthe turned to catch sight of Alphonse sitting on a bench in the courtyard.
“What did you hear?” she asked.
“Everything. You two weren’t exactly discreet in your plans.”
She plopped down on the bench next to him. She could feel his arms stiffen, but he was too polite to scoot away from her. “You wanted to know… things,” she finished her sentence vaguely, in case anyone was listening to their conversation the way Alphonse had been.
“I didn’t expect you to agree to… that. You do know what the colonel is after, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. You sound more and more like my big brother, Max.”
He shifted to look at her. “Is that what I am to you? Like a brother?” His gaze was that of a wounded puppy.
“Isn’t that what you want me to see you as? A protector, nothing more?”
He put his hand over his face, obscuring his expression. “I thought that’s what I—”
Marthe stood and crossed her arms over her chest. “I can take care of myself you know. And this is my chance to find out the information you, and others—” she was once again vague— “have been demanding of me.”
Alphonse stared at the ground, waiting a beat before he replied, “I know you can take care of yourself. And I also know that
the colonel might be a good source of information.”
“So why are you so upset?”
“I don’t know.” He rose and plucked a handful of violets from the ground. “Here,” he said, thrusting them at her. “Wear this as a corsage. I will find contacts for you in Brussels who will recognize you by these.”
“Alphonse—” Marthe called. But his long legs had already carried him out of the courtyard.
Chapter 35
M’greet
July 1915
M’greet was miserable. She was failing at spy school. The intricacies of learning all the minute details of espionage would not stay in her head, and Fräulein Doktor made it a point to never repeat orders. M’greet had no aptitude for codes or ciphers, and she disliked the secret inks on principle—for pretending to be something they were not. The only thing she was reasonably good at was recognizing the different uniforms of the Allied armies.
Normally when she was in trouble, she’d find the first man to help save her. But the male recruits were not in a position to help her and the Fräulein, of course, was immune to her charms. M’greet had managed to befriend the stocky officer who answered the door the first day, even convincing him to take her out to a party in Antwerp, but when he was called away on assignment, she was left with no one to help her.
One day M’greet arrived late to the anteroom to find only Clara and the two sisters.
“Where are Werner and Erich?” M’greet asked, getting in line with the other women.
“Gone,” Clara replied. “They were asked to leave yesterday.”
“Oh.” M’greet wasn’t aware that the recruits could be kicked out of training, but then she recalled how often the Fräulein’s voice raised against their male counterparts. “I prefer women as spies, anyway,” she’d once stated. “So much easier to make it through checkpoints, and, they—especially if they are beautiful—can flirt with the men to provide a distraction.”
After a lengthy tutorial on lock-picking, the Fräulein dismissed the other women, and requested M’greet to stay after.
The Fräulein paced up and down the length of the room in her typical manner. She began by stating, “I think you are a demimondaine and more trouble than you are worth.”
M’greet longed to shout at her to stay still. “Oh?” she asked, for lack of anything else to say.
“I wanted to terminate your training the way I did those others, but my superiors would not allow it. It seems you’ve made allies with some powerful men in the Supreme Command.”
M’greet shot her best Mata Hari smile: seductive, with hints of buried secrets.
The Fräulein stopped abruptly, directly in front of M’greet. “But a spy works alone. That way, if you are indeed caught, you will have no one to blame but yourself.” She raised her eyebrows.
M’greet did not change her expression. Fräulein Doktor sighed before sitting down behind her desk. She opened a drawer and took out a leather-purse. “There are 10,000 francs in here. I was instructed to give them to you.”
M’greet took the purse, opening to check that there was indeed a pile of francs inside.
The Fräulein watched her with narrowed eyes. “Is this why you chose to spy for Germany?”
“I needed the money, and the German army pays the best.”
“This isn’t a game, H-21. If you think that, you will get yourself killed. And possibly others too.”
M’greet put the purse over her shoulder. “I am well aware of the consequences.”
“Well, if that’s the case,” the Fräulein clasped her jeweled hands together and set them on her desk. “You will be sent to Paris to await further orders.”
Paris. M’greet could barely contain her excitement to be going back to her favorite city in the world. “Thank you, Fräulein Doktor.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank the Supreme Command.”
M’greet nodded as she turned to go.
“And good luck, H-21.”
Was it just M’greet’s imagination, or did the Fräulein’s tone sound even more ominous than usual?
Chapter 36
Marthe
July 1915
Thursday evening a German soldier brought an official-looking envelope to the café.
“What is that, Marthe?” Mother asked.
Marthe opened it to find a special pass and a travel voucher. She avoided her mother’s glance, not wanting to reveal too much in case something went wrong. “I have an errand to perform, which will take me several days. Don’t worry,” she continued as Mother frowned. “There is no cause for anxiety. And if I succeed,” Marthe said, gazing around the café, “it will be a huge victory.”
Mother nodded her acquiescence, but her eyes were still filled with worry.
The train ride was luckily uneventful. Marthe tried to sleep, but her mind was racing. She wasn’t sure she could really go through with this, but she had to steel her mind against her doubts. Killing the Kaiser would mean a swift end to the war, and almost anything would be worth such an outcome, even losing her reputation, and her virginity.
A German military car was waiting outside the otherwise deserted train station at Antwerp. The driver set Marthe’s suitcase beside her in the backseat and handed her a note from the colonel, excusing himself for his absence. Thank goodness. He ended the note by ensuring Marthe that he would not be so detained the rest of the trip.
After checking into the hotel, she fell gratefully into the soft bed. That night she slept better than she had in a long time.
Marthe awoke the next morning to find a maid letting up the blinds, flooding the unfamiliar bedroom with sunlight. The hotel was obviously one of Antwerp’s finest, with thickly piled carpets, silk wallpaper and pillows of eiderdown. The maid set a coffee carafe on the bedside table before handing Marthe yet another note. It was from the colonel. Reality came crashing down as she opened the note with trembling hands. He requested that she meet him for breakfast in the dining room.
“Something wrong, fräulein?” the maid asked.
“No,” Marthe said, refolding the card. She reminded herself that the Kaiser was somewhere in the area: the same man who commanded these German vandals to overrun fair Belgium. I must keep a clear head, no matter what.
The colonel sat in the huge dining room with an extensive breakfast spread in front of him. “Marthe, eat. You must be starving from your long trip.”
She sat across from him, feeling overwhelmed. Because of rationing, she wasn’t used to large meals, especially not at such an early hour. Not to mention the colonel’s enthusiastic welcome grated at her nerves.
“What will you do today, Marthe?” he asked through a bite of eggs.
“Oh, are we not to spend the day together?” she replied, trying to keep the hope out of her voice.
“Sadly, I have some business to take care of, but I will be sure to have it completed by supper.”
“In that case, I suppose I will explore Antwerp.”
“Excellent.” He dug his wallet out and held several bills toward her.
“No thank you, mein herr.”
“Take it, Marthe. Deutsche marks are much more valuable here than Belgian francs.”
She hesitated before picking up the money, feeling her face flush as the other patrons peered at her.
After breakfast, Marthe took a walk around the city. She’d never been to Antwerp before, but expected it had been much less shabby before the war. The roads were in dire need of repair and some of the buildings had the telltale burn scars and broken windows of a German invasion.
The shops, too, proved to be a disappointment. There were barely any goods for sale, and the prices they were asking for what little was left took Marthe’s breath away.
She decided to head toward the Grand Place. A company of English prisoners led by a German officer paused in front of her as a tramcar clanged by. As the car passed, a shower of cigarettes and chocolates fell upon the ragged prisoners. “Vive L’ Angleterre!” a man shouted as he
threw more cigarettes toward the Englishmen.
The German feldwebel caught sight of the tramcar benefactor. Thankful for the distraction, Marthe watched the scene unfold.
“You there!” the feldwebel shouted. The tramcar happened to pause and he boarded, but not before the culprit vaulted out of the back. The feldwebel pulled out his rifle and ran the length of the car as the tramcar started moving forward. He jumped out to chase the tramcar benefactor down a side-street, past a group of civilians. Marthe saw one of them extend a foot, and soon the feldwebel lay sprawled on the sidewalk. She just caught a glimpse of the man to whom the foot belonged before he faded into the crowd. It was Herr Jacobs, the safety-pin man who had once boarded at the grocer’s house.
The civilian voices grew louder as a balloon bearing Belgium’s national colors rose above them and began to sail majestically in the July breeze. Marthe realized the date: July 21—Belgium’s Independence Day. “Vive La Belgique!” someone shouted. “Vive les Allies!” came the return cry.
Another passing tramcar rung its bell loud and clear and a motor-car driver gave an answering toot on its horn. The sounds from the streets grew louder as the balloon soared higher, and then suddenly came the crack of a rifle and the balloon was destroyed. The crowd began to disperse, but proudly, defiantly, for Antwerp had managed to celebrate, in the most minute way, its Independence Day.
The colonel met Marthe that evening wearing a tuxedo, his chin fitting perfectly in the upturned collar of his crisp white shirt. He had heard of the demonstration and was furious. “How dare they permit such a stupid escapade to take place?”
Marthe remained silent as he led her to a motor-car. She disagreed with the assertion that the escapade had been stupid but knew the colonel would not appreciate her opinion.
As the car traveled through Antwerp, Marthe stared out the window, noting that all of the street-lamps had been covered with dark blue paint. The distant beat of anti-aircraft guns announced the presence of Allied airplanes, and soon beams of searchlights slashed through the night.
The Women Spies Series 1-3 Page 84
