That will have to change, she thought as she sent Annette to the cupboard for another blanket. She’ll have to be watched or she’ll be making trouble for all of us.
Once the dormitory had settled down to sleep, Hélène suddenly felt someone sit down on the edge of her bed. Peering into the gloom, she saw the pale face of the bread thief.
‘You stole my blanket,’ whispered Annette.
‘And you stole my bread,’ came the sharp reply.
There was a muffled laugh and then Annette said, ‘Yes, but you didn’t get it back and I’ve got a new blanket… so I win!’ Then she leaned down and put her mouth to Hélène’s ear and murmured, ‘Be careful, new girl, or you’ll find yourself in real trouble. Know what I mean?’
Hélène didn’t, but she could guess. When Annette had gone back to her own bed and the only sounds in the room were the snufflings and snorings of thirty girls, Hélène lay awake, her brain churning. How long would she have to stay in this awful place? She could feel the lump growing in her throat, the pressure of tears in her eyes, but she was determined not to cry. It would do no good and only make the other girls think she was a baby. No. She refused to cry. She would use all her energy in finding a way to escape. If Jeannot, Paul and the Monkey could make a living from the streets, then surely, so could she. She would keep a careful watch and find a way to escape this prison. She would find her way back home and hide there until Maman and Papa came back for her.
Next morning began with prayers in the chapel and then there was the same dreary round of work. All the children were assigned chores to complete, and Hélène found herself sent to the laundry. Here it was hot and steamy as the huge coppers containing the dirty clothes were brought to the boil on wide brick fireplaces. The smaller girls kept the fires going, posting dry wood into the flames so that their heat never diminished. Older girls, girls more Hélène’s age, were in charge of these huge vats, and continually poked them with long poles, turning the clothes in the soapy water. Hélène was handed one of the poles and was told by Annette what to do.
‘Don’t get too close,’ she warned, ‘or you’ll get splashed by the boiling water.’
Hélène was extremely careful. She was only just recovering from her bruises and she needed to be strong for her escape.
After a week of drudgery and toil, where one day was so similar to the next, Hélène had lost track of time. There was no question of schooling. When she had ventured to ask Sister Marguerite if they had lessons, she gave a bark of laughter.
‘What on earth for? What use would reading and writing be to you?’
‘I can read and write,’ replied Hélène.
‘Can you now? Well, you won’t be needing it any more. Scullery maids don’t need book learning,’ adding as she turned her attention elsewhere, ‘Reading’s very overrated.’
And you can’t do it, Hélène thought with a sudden flash of insight. You can’t read. And for some reason the thought pleased her.
Sunday came round and the children were all given a clean set of clothes to wear for church. Hélène’s own clothes had been taken away the morning after she had arrived and she was now clad in one of the grey dresses they all wore. It was rough and scratchy and made her skin itch, but it was all she had, and a pair of cotton drawers for decency.
When they’d finished breakfast and it had been cleared away, they all lined up and were led out of the back gate of the convent to form a crocodile and, two by two, they walked the half mile to the church for High Mass. Hélène found herself paired with Annette, and as they walked along the streets, Hélène looked down narrow side roads and into squares and courtyards. Surely if she was quick she could break away, disappear into the warren of streets that straggled off the main road. She wondered if Annette ever thought about escape. It seemed that they were allowed to talk quietly as they walked, and so she asked.
‘Do you ever think of running away, Annette?’
Annette looked surprised at the question. ‘Why would I?’ she replied. ‘Where would I go?’
‘Home?’ Hélène suggested tentatively, causing Annette to burst out laughing. ‘This is my home,’ she said. ‘I ain’t never had no other. My ma, whoever she was, left me on the doorstep in a basket.’ She rolled her eyes dramatically and added, ‘I’m a child of shame!’
Hélène didn’t quite know what a child of shame was and not wanting to reveal her ignorance by asking, she just nodded and said, ‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t know.’
‘Don’t matter,’ shrugged Annette, but said no more and Hélène was none the wiser.
When they reached the church they were herded into the back rows. Hélène could see Madame Sauze in one of the pews further forward, but the sight of Father Lenoir and Father Thomas emerging from the vestry in their robes made her sink back behind a pillar, out of sight. All through the service, the homily, the communion, her mind was racing. Could church be the place from which she could make her escape? Could she make a break for it now? She glanced round her, but saw that Sister Marguerite and the portress, Sister Gabrielle, were sitting on the end of the pews, between the children and the church door. No escape from inside the church then; she’d have to come up with something else.
As they left the church, Madame Sauze came across to where they were lined up for their walk back to the convent. She came towards Hélène slowly, not sure that she was the right child. Dressed as all the others, her hair constrained by the strip of grey, she looked nothing like the girl she had left with Reverend Mother just six days ago.
‘Hélène,’ she said hesitantly and was dismayed to see the pale face of the child who turned in answer to her name. When she saw Madame Sauze her face lit up.
‘Have you found them? Are they coming?’
‘Not yet, child, but Father Lenoir has written to several churches in outlying villages with St Etienne in their name, asking for news of them.’ She gave a sigh. ‘The trouble is, things in Paris are getting very difficult now with the fighting, and letters aren’t getting to their destinations, so I’m afraid we’ve had no replies.’
Hélène’s face fell, and Agathe wished she hadn’t approached her; she should have stayed away until she had some good news to impart, but she’d wanted to know that the child was all right. Having seen her, she wished with all her heart that she had stood out against the two priests and kept her at the Clergy House.
At that moment, Reverend Mother emerged from the church and seeing Madame Sauze speaking to Hélène, she sailed over to find out what she was saying.
‘I’m afraid we don’t allow our girls to speak to just anyone in the street, madame,’ she said, ‘so I’d be grateful if you’d keep your distance in future.’ She looked speculatively at Madame Sauze and added, ‘If you have any news of the parents, please inform me, not the child. It would be so disappointing for her if the information proved to be incorrect.’ She gave Agathe a frosty smile and then swept away to the front of the crocodile to lead it back to St Luke’s.
As they reached the corner Hélène turned, and looking back saw Madame Sauze still standing outside the church, watching the line of children disappearing from sight.
That first week set the routine of Hélène’s existence. Though she was still determined to run away if she possibly could, she found she was already getting used to how things were at St Luke’s. The washing facilities were minimal and the smell she’d been unable to identify on arrival proved to be that of unwashed bodies. The food was scarce and badly cooked and all the children and most of the nuns were hungry much of the time, but gradually Hélène found that she could manage on the soup, the bread, the occasional potatoes and scraps of meat and fish that appeared at the table.
Sundays came and went; three was it, or four? But for the children living at St Luke’s the world outside had no meaning. They could hear the guns, the bombardment of the city from the army that encircled it, the louder boom of the guns mounted inside the walls at the Trocadéro that returned fire, but they were neve
r given any explanation of what was happening beyond their own walls. The curfew that had been ordered had no implication for them, they went to bed with the dusk and rose with the dawn.
Each Sunday she kept her eyes on Madame Sauze, hoping for news, but following Reverend Mother’s instruction Madame Sauze didn’t approach her again and Hélène soon realised that she could rely on no one but herself.
It was as she was sitting watching the nuns go up to the altar to receive Holy Communion that the idea struck her, and she realised that she did have a chance of escape from the church. As she watched the procession of sisters move through the church, the ghost of her idea grew and crystallised into a plan.
The following Sunday she made sure she was on the end of the pew, sitting next to Sister Gabrielle. She sat on the edge of her seat waiting and watching. The nuns filed up to the altar to receive the Body of Christ and at last Sister Marguerite and Sister Gabrielle rose from their places at the end of the orphanage pews and joined the other nuns.
Hélène glanced behind her. There was no one between her and the door now. It was closed, but surely it would only be the work of a moment to open it, to run outside. Once out of the church she would disappear down one of the side streets that led off the square and vanish into the city. If she moved quickly and nobody made a grab for her, she’d be out into the square so fast that they’d never catch her. She had no money, and only the orphanage clothes she stood up in, but it seemed her best chance.
Without further thought she edged to the end of the pew. She looked down the aisle to the altar. Sister Gabrielle was already turning to come back to her place. With her eyes raised heavenward, her hands clasped together in the wide sleeves of her habit, she walked slowly from the front of the church.
Now! Go now! Hélène was on her feet, heading for the door. Someone called out and people turned round to see what was happening. Sister Gabrielle’s eyes flew open in time to see one of the children disappearing out of the door. She dropped her hands and ran forwards, intending to catch the child in the street outside, but as she reached the pew, another of the girls seemed to fall out of it, collapsing on the floor, coughing and spluttering and clutching her throat. It was so sudden that Sister Gabrielle almost fell over her and had to grab the pew end to remain on her feet.
‘Get out of my way, child,’ she shrilled, but Annette, for it was she who was writhing on the floor, clutched at her habit to restrain her, coughing loudly and wheezing, ‘Help, Sister! I can’t breathe!’, making those in the nearby pews draw away for fear of some infection from the orphanage.
Reverend Mother appeared as if from nowhere, and almost at once order was restored. Father Lenoir and Father Thomas had continued distributing the Host, as if there were no commotion at the back of the church, and it wasn’t until Annette had been taken outside and given water that she managed to stop coughing. The rest of the children were hurriedly removed from the area, and the congregation came out into the spring sunshine with something more exciting to talk about than the service, or what the priest had said in his homily.
Of Hélène St Clair there was no sign. Reverend Mother stayed at the church to speak to the priests and their housekeeper.
‘Well, I hope you’re satisfied,’ she said angrily. ‘It was Hélène St Clair who caused that furore, that commotion in the House of God! Well, I can tell you this, Christian duty or not, I will not have that child back at St Luke’s.’
‘Now then, Mother,’ soothed Father Lenoir. ‘You did all you could for the child; you mustn’t blame yourself.’
‘I certainly don’t,’ snapped the nun, ‘I blame you for foisting her on me. She’s been a disruption from the first day. She should have been whipped the day she arrived, when she disturbed the entire community, shouting out in the refectory.’
Father Thomas gave Agathe a sly smile. ‘I always said she’d be trouble,’ he said. ‘We should have given her some food and sent her on her way.’
‘Quite right, Father,’ agreed the Reverend Mother. ‘And now I must go and deal with Annette.’ Turning on her heel she strode away towards St Luke’s to deal with the girl whose unexpected coughing fit had prevented Sister Gabrielle from catching up with the truant.
Madame Sauze watched her go, knowing that young Annette was in for a tough time.
Annette knew it too, but from the moment Hélène had taken her revenge by stealing the blanket, Annette had looked at her with new respect. She hadn’t known Hélène was going to make a break for it today, but when she saw her heading for the door, with Sister Gabrielle only a few metres behind her, she had acted on the spur of the moment and done the little she could to help her get away.
23
Once she was out of the church Hélène knew that she had only moments to disappear. Sister Gabrielle would be out in a trice to grab hold of her. She darted into the first side street she came to and ran, her feet pounding on the cobbles. As she reached the corner she rounded it at speed and cannoned into a portly gentleman coming the other way. He caught hold of her, his hand grasping her arm.
‘Now then, you young limb,’ he began, but for the third time Hélène remembered Jeannot’s shouted instruction and bending her head she sank her teeth into the man’s hand. He let go with a bellow and she took to her heels, diving for cover behind a lumbering waggon and then round the corner into the next street. As before she took right and left turns indiscriminately until she was certain that she had shaken off the pursuit, and when at last she came to a wide boulevard she slowed her steps, so that it wasn’t obvious that she was running away. She was free. Now all she had to do was find her way back home, but which way was it? Whom could she ask? She stood for a moment with the sun on her face getting her breath back, and then as from nowhere, it came to her. In one of her lessons with the globe, Mademoiselle Corbine had explained that at midday in France the sun was always in the south.
Well, it’s about midday now, Hélène thought, and if the sun is shining in my eyes, which it is, then I’m facing south, which must mean that west is on my right. She turned to her right and began to walk slowly along the boulevard. Home is in Passy, and Passy is at the western end of Paris. At every junction she turned her face to the sun and continued along whichever road went right. Despite the boom of distant cannon, or perhaps in defiance of it, many citizens were taking their usual Sunday afternoon promenade along the river and Hélène passed among them, just a young girl on an errand for her mistress. She was aware that she was still dressed in the dowdy orphanage uniform and that she must look out of place as she moved towards the more prosperous part of the city, but she walked purposefully, keeping her eyes straight ahead of her, never making eye contact with those coming towards her. After a while however, her strength began to flag. She’d had nothing to eat since breakfast and there’d been little enough of that, but worse was her thirst. The day was unseasonably hot, and she’d walked for several miles, but still she didn’t want to stop, to draw attention to herself by asking directions. She needed to find the Avenue Ste Anne, but without anyone remembering her. She saw the green space of a small park and could hear the splash of water from an invisible fountain. Desperate for a drink, she turned in through the gate to find it. There were a few other people walking there, taking advantage of the beautiful weather, and when she had slaked her thirst at the fountain, Hélène too walked on slowly and out through the gate on the further side. That was when she saw it. The church of Our Lady of Sorrows, its wide steps leading up to the west door above which was its square bell tower, topped with a pointed steeple; the church she and her family attended when they were in Paris. Hélène, exhausted now, could have wept for joy. She could easily find her way home from here and the knowledge gave her new strength. Until now she had thought no further than getting home, but as she approached she remembered her fear that the Gaston-man might still be watching for her. Hoping that she was unrecognisable in her grey orphan’s dress, she approached the house, walking past slowly to see if there was
any sign of him or his friends, but the street was empty. As she passed by she saw that the front door was barred with a piece of timber and her heart sank. The door had not been mended properly since Gaston had broken it down, so probably Madame Sauze was right, there was no one there. Still, she might be able to get in through the porte cochère or the garden gate and find shelter for tonight at least in the stables. Then she thought, perhaps Pierre was still there. Perhaps Papa had left him to look after the house while the family were at St Etienne. After all, he’d left Margot and Gilbert Daurier to look after the house when they’d gone on holiday last summer. Last summer. It seemed ages ago, and when they’d returned to Paris, Gilbert was dead and Margot had become quite simple, quite unable to work. Maman had sent her to St Etienne to live out her days in the peace of the country, away from the noise of the city and the painful memories of the siege.
So, Hélène thought now, Pierre might be here. She retraced her steps and turned down the lane behind the house. She saw at once that the porte cochère was still chained and moved on to the garden gate. She turned the handle, but to no avail. The latch didn’t lift and the gate remained stubbornly shut. Tears began to fill her eyes and she banged hard on the gate, still with the faint hope that Pierre might be there, might hear her and let her in.
She didn’t hear the man approach as he moved silently towards her, but when he put his hand on her shoulder she spun round with a scream, trying to pull away. He wore the uniform of a National Guard and holding her away from him, his grip like a vice, he stared down into her face.
‘Let me go! Let me go!’ she shrieked, kicking out at him in an effort to break free, and to her surprise he released her and said incredulously, ‘Hélène?’
Children of the Siege Page 22
