“Aunt Marie! What is it? What’s happened?” She reached for the bedside light, but Marie caught her hand.
“No lights,” she hissed. “Come downstairs, Adèle, we need you.” Marie was already out of the door and on the stairs. “You must get dressed.”
“I’m coming.” Adelaide swung her legs out of bed and threw on some clothes. However, before she followed Marie downstairs, she slipped the garter, on which she carried her razor-sharp knife, up above her left knee, where it nestled hidden by her skirt. It was the first time she had taken the knife with her, but as she had no idea what the problem downstairs was, she wanted to be prepared.
In the kitchen she found not only the Launays, but five other people, two of them children. A couple were seated, pale faced, at the table and the children were standing beside them. The little family turned fearfully as Adèle came into the room, and she saw to her surprise that the children were identical twins, young boys, their faces pinched and pale, their eyes wide and dark, one clinging to his father’s hand, the other within the circle of his mother’s arm.
A second man, standing by the window, was speaking. “Albertine will clear up as best she can,” he said. “I must get back to help her now. Anyway, if I’m seen near here, it’s the end for all of us.”
Gerard nodded and shook the man’s hand. “You’re right, Étienne. Be careful… and good luck.”
The woman at the table caught at Étienne’s hand as he moved to the door. “God bless you, Étienne,” her voice cracked with emotion, “you and Albertine. We shall never forget you.”
Étienne patted her hand awkwardly. “Sorry we can’t help any more,” he said gruffly. Gerard turned off the light and Étienne slipped through the scullery and out into the darkness, the back door closing softly behind him.
Gerard switched the light on again and the woman turned to him. There were tears in her eyes. “And now we put you in danger.”
“Don’t worry,” Marie Launay said quietly. “We’ll do our best to get you all away.” She turned to Adelaide and went on. “This is the Auclon family. Joseph and Janine and their sons, Jacques and Julien. They’re Jews, but their family has lived round here as long as I can remember. They managed to escape the Gestapo roundup last year, and Étienne, my cousin, and his wife Albertine, have been hiding them in a derelict cottage on their farm ever since. But today Étienne saw that scum, Alain Fernand, sniffing about in the woods nearby. He thinks that Fernand has somehow got wind of the hiding place. If he has, it won’t be long before he reports it to his German masters. Étienne had no choice but to move them, for everyone’s sake.”
“Where shall we hide them?” asked Adelaide, though she thought she already knew the answer. “There’s nowhere here.”
“In your safe room,” answered Gerard. “It is the only chance they’ve got. If Étienne’s right about Fernand, the Germans will be swarming everywhere tomorrow. We’ve nowhere to hide four people here.”
“I don’t know how safe the room really is,” warned Adelaide. “It’s not been tested yet. There hasn’t been a German raid since it was finished.”
Gerard shrugged. “It’s the best we can do for now. They must be hidden before morning. Then we can try and work out some long-term plans.” He gestured. “This is Antoinette.” He used her resistance code name, though she doubted that it was of much protection in the circumstances. “We’ll try and get you to a safe place, but you’ll have to stay hidden there until we can make some plan to move you further away.”
He turned to Marie. “Can you put up some food and water for them to bring?” he said. “We may not be able to get back to them for several days.”
Marie nodded, and went into her pantry to see what she could find.
“You’ll have to make sure the children stay quiet,” Adelaide warned the mother. “We’ve got to move round the village, and there may be patrols.”
Madame Auclon smiled wearily. “It has become their life, to be quiet,” she said. “They won’t make a sound.”
Marie returned with two baskets of food, and having filled two bottles of water from the tap, handed them to Monsieur Auclon.
“Ready?” said Gerard. “Let’s go.” He smiled reassuringly at the Auclons. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you safely hidden.”
They collected a length of rope from the barn, which Adelaide coiled round her waist, and Gerard tucked a short crowbar under his jacket. Thus equipped, Gerard led the little group out of the farmyard and along the river path towards the convent. Monsieur Auclon carried the baskets of food, with Madame holding each child firmly by the hand, following behind. Adelaide brought up the rear. There was no moon, but the sky was clear and faint starlight lit their way. As their eyes adjusted to the night, they made steady progress and Gerard found his way to the copse below the convent without any difficulty. There had been no sound in the darkness as they had edged round the village, their ears strained for the slightest noise that might warn them of approaching danger. The night remained still as they followed the path up through the trees to the convent wall.
“Wait here,” Gerard whispered, as they reached the edge of the copse. “Stay back in the trees, and don’t move. We’ll come back for you in a minute or two, all right?” He didn’t warn them again to be quiet; there was no need.
Leaving the little family deep in the shadows, Adelaide and Gerard moved out into the open ground beside the convent wall.
“How far along?” Gerard murmured as they reached the wall.
“At the edge of the field,” whispered Adelaide. “Ten paces beyond the courtyard gate.” They reached the gate and then counted their steps until they found the stunted bush, its roots thrust through the iron bars of the grille, which both marked and masked the grating.
“Here,” murmured Adelaide, and they set to work with the crowbar.
When Adelaide had presented herself at the convent kitchen door that first morning at exactly 7.30, Sister Elisabeth, large and red-faced with the sleeves of her habit tucked up to her shoulders, was expecting her.
“So, Adèle,” she greeted her briskly. “Mother says I’m to use you to relieve Sister Marie-Marc from some of the heavier work.” She surveyed Adelaide for a moment and sniffed, as if she found her wanting.
“I’m stronger than I look, Sister,” Adelaide ventured. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”
“Well, first thing, you can get to work on those dishes,” Sister Elisabeth said, waving her hand at a stack of plates on a trolley being wheeled through the kitchen into the scullery beyond by another, older sister.
“Sister Marie-Marc, this is Adèle,” Sister Elisabeth announced in the sort of voice reserved for the hard of hearing or the stupid. “She’s come to help with the work here in the kitchen. When you’ve finished the dishes between you, she can bring up potatoes and onions from the cellar and you can prepare them for lunch.”
“Yes, Sister,” Sister Marie-Marc replied mildly. She smiled at Adelaide, her eyes bright amidst the wrinkles of her face, and piled the plates into the deep stone sink. “Hello, Adèle. We’re very glad to have you helping out.” She pointed to the huge black range, which occupied one wall of the kitchen. “There’s a pot of hot water on the stove, will you bring that through here? Then you can wash and I’ll dry.”
Adelaide fetched the heavy pot and poured hot water into the sink while Sister Marie-Marc turned on the single tap, to add the cold.
When the dishes were done, Sister Marie-Marc nodded to a door behind them. “That’s the way down to the cellar. You’ll find a sack of potatoes down there, and some onions.”
Adelaide had spent some time the previous evening wondering how she was going to be able to get into the cellar and assess its possibilities as a hiding place. Despite Reverend Mother refusing her permission to use the convent, or its cellar, as a safe house, Adelaide had not yet given up the idea. If she could find a way of using a part of the cellar without putting the nuns at risk, she could either go back to Sara
h and put it to her again, or, and this was an option she was loath to take but was probably the more likely, she could make use of it without her aunt’s knowledge.
Now was her chance to have a quick look. She opened the door and peered down into the darkness below.
“Be careful,” Sister Marie-Marc warned her, handing her a pot for the potatoes. “Those steps are steep.”
“I’ll be careful,” Adelaide promised, and with a tight grip on the single handrail descended the stone stairs into the cellar. By the light that filtered down from the open door, she could see the racks of stored vegetables in the first cellar. A slatted table held apples, spread in neat rows, above which were several shelves lined with preserving jars, all labelled with their contents, soft fruits, jams and honey. Several rounds of cheese wrapped in cotton cloth were standing on a marble slab, and there were stone butter jars just like those in Marie Launay’s pantry. Below the apple table were bulging sacks, which, when she investigated them, Adelaide found to contain carrots, turnips and the potatoes. Strings of onions hung from hooks in the ceiling and there were more large stone jars standing on the floor, marked flour and rice. As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she could see that there were other cellars beyond, rooms opening off each other. She looked into the first and saw a heap of coal, but beyond that there was no light.
I’ll have to come down with a lamp or a candle or something, she thought as she peered into the darkness. I must look at the place properly.
Afraid she would occasion comment if she were too long fetching the vegetables, she filled her pot with potatoes from an open sack, took a string of onions from one of the hooks and scurried back up the steps. Later she was determined to find a way to explore the cellars beyond.
When she emerged back into the kitchen, Sister Elisabeth was nowhere to be seen, and Sister Marie-Marc was standing at the range stirring a stockpot with a huge iron spoon.
“You found them? Good. I’ll get on with those.” She took the vegetables from Adelaide and laid them on the table. “Sister Elisabeth has been called away, but she says you’re to bring up some coal from the cellar, to fill those.” She indicated three iron containers set in a recess beside the range. “That really is a job for a younger back.”
“Yes, Sister,” Adelaide replied, moving to pick up one of the huge buckets.
“I doubt if even a youngster like you will be able to carry one of those full,” said Sister Marie-Marc. “We usually bring the coal up in a smaller bucket which is in the cellar, and fill the big ones where they stand. Come with me, I’ll show you.” Giving the stew a good swirl with the spoon before she left it, the old nun led the way back down into the cellar.
“There’s no electric light down here,” she said cheerfully, as she picked up an oil lamp Adelaide hadn’t noticed before. “So, look where you’re going.” She lit the lamp and led the way into the first side cellar. “The coal, what’s left of it, is over here, and there’s the small bucket for carrying.”
“Fine, Sister, I’ll bring some up for you.” Adelaide smiled. “Don’t forget your stew,” she added, as the little nun seemed inclined to linger.
With a cry of dismay, Sister Marie-Marc disappeared up the stairs, and Adelaide was left in the cellar, with the lamp.
Quickly she shovelled coal into the first bucket, and then leaving it ready to bring up to the kitchen took the lamp and began to explore. She held the light high as she walked through the musty rooms that made up the cellars. One had garden implements stored in it, two spades, a garden fork, a hoe and a rake; another was stacked with old furniture, a third had some empty packing cases, an old ladder with several rungs missing and a bicycle without a front wheel. Finally she reached the last, and saw the faint daylight filtering through the grille in its ceiling.
This must be the one, Adelaide thought, where they hid Terry Ham.
She considered it for a moment. It had distinct possibilities. It had a sturdy door to close it off. There was no lock, but that could be rectified. The grille above was just about big enough for a man to squeeze through… if he could climb up to it. The only things in the cellar were some old shelves and a heap of rags in the corner.
Yes, Adelaide decided, it does have possibilities. But first I must find out where that grating comes out.
She had no more time now, Sister Marie-Marc would wonder why she was taking so long with the coal, so she hurried back to the coal cellar, picked up the waiting bucket and carried it up to the kitchen. When she’d emptied it into one of the large scuttles at the side of the range, she returned to the cellar for more. On each journey she took a few moments to learn the geography of the cellars, to try and work out where the grille might emerge. Before she carried the last bucket up the stairs, Adelaide held the lamp to the ceiling of the coal cellar, and there sure enough was what she had half-expected to see; a coal chute which must open into the yard above.
If I can find that, she thought excitedly, I can probably work out roughly where the grating must be.
When Adelaide carried the final bucket up to the kitchen, she found Sister Elisabeth was back. The nun looked at the full coalscuttles with approval.
“Very good, Adèle,” she said. “That should be enough to last us right through until tomorrow.”
“And tomorrow I’ll fill them again,” Adelaide promised.
Adelaide went to the convent each morning for four hours, and gradually fell into a routine. She knew what was expected of her, and, once the nuns realised it, they let her get on with it.
On her second day she had found the grating from the outside. It had been easy to see the coal chute in a corner of the courtyard and from there to guess where the grating might be. Almost buried in a patch of scrub at the edge of the field, it was just outside the convent wall. Clearly it had not been lifted for years. Thickly covered with weeds, it lay concealed and forgotten. Adelaide knelt down and pretended to do up her shoelace while she inspected the grille more carefully. Was it the one, or simply some sort of drain? She picked up a twig and pushed it through the iron bars. Next time she visited the cellar, her twig was on the floor.
Each day Adelaide collected coal for the kitchen range, and each day she worked on the end cellar, Terry’s cellar. Under her skirt, she smuggled in a bradawl, a screwdriver and metal bolt, all provided by Gerard Launay, and while she was supposed to be shovelling coal, she gradually equipped the door with a bolt on its inside, so that anyone hiding there might lock himself in, perhaps buying enough time to make a break for it through the ceiling grille.
It was when she had just finished this job she turned round to find Sister Marie-Marc standing watching her.
“Sister!” Adelaide held the screwdriver in the fold of her skirt, hoping the nun hadn’t actually seen what she’d been doing. “Did you want me? Is there something I can do?”
Sister Marie-Marc smiled. “No, I just wanted to see what you were up to down here.”
“Up to? I’m not up to anything,” Adelaide smiled. “Though I have to admit to curiosity. I was just exploring the cellar, that’s all.”
“No it isn’t,” replied Sister Marie-Marc conversationally. “Over the last few days you’ve loosened the grating, you’ve brought a chair in from the other cellar and now you’ve put a bolt on the door… on the inside.” The nun’s bright eyes studied her. “So, who are you, Adèle, and what are you doing here? Does Mother know?”
Adelaide thought fast. How much, if anything, should she admit to this elderly nun? Sister Marie-Marc had already helped a British airman to escape from the Germans, but was she really prepared to risk her life and the lives of her sisters to go on helping men to escape? Whatever happened, they couldn’t spend any more time down in the cellar now, without causing comment or suspicion.
“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.”
The Sisters of St. Croix Page 26
