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.”
“A man from the resistance. I don’t know his name. I’d never seen him before.”
“If you didn’t know him, why did he bring the family to you?”
“The convent is a Christian house,” replied Mother Marie-Pierre. “I suppose he must have thought we would give shelter to any family in danger.”
“Because you’d done it before!” snapped Hoch. “That’s why he came to you! A secret room was prepared in the cellar. I saw it with my own eyes. You knew they were coming… or someone in the convent did. Someone prepared that hiding place… if not you, who? The girl? She worked in the convent. She came in each day. You had to have help from the outside. Who is she… the one that prepared the room?”
“I did it.” The words were scarcely more than a croak. Sister Marie-Marc had opened her eyes and was staring up at the colonel. “I made the room. Mother didn’t even know about it until the Auclons were there.”
Mother Marie-Pierre dropped to her knees beside her sister. “It’s all right, Sister,” she said, “you don’t have to say any more.”
“Oh, I think she does,” Hoch said, pushing Reverend Mother aside. “Go on, Sister, what about the girl? The young woman who took the children away and then came back for the parents tonight? Who is she?”
“I don’t know,” murmured Sister Marie-Marc, her eyes closing again.
Hoch bent down and lifted Sister Marie-Marc’s head from the floor, peering at her swollen face before letting her head drop with a sharp crack onto the stone floor. “I don’t think she’ll survive tonight,” he remarked, glancing up at Reverend Mother. “I shall leave you to consider now,” he went on. “We shall resume in the morning. I shall bring another of my men who is specially trained in interrogation. Perhaps he will be more persuasive than I am.” He walked to the door and then glanced back at the figure on the floor. “It’s a pity you weren’t more helpful. You could have saved her a lot of pain.”
Mother Marie-Pierre held his gaze. “Will you send in some water so I can bathe her face?”
“No, Reverend Mother, I will not.”
“And a bucket, or something… for our needs?”
“You can squat in the corner,” he replied cheerfully, pointing to an open drain hole. “Something you’ll have to get used to, I expect. There’ll be few conveniences at the camps where we send enemies of the Reich.” He rapped sharply on the door three times and Mother Marie-Pierre heard the bolt being drawn back. The door opened, the colonel left, and as the door closed behind him, the light went out.
Mother Marie-Pierre bent down in the darkness and tried to ease Sister Marie-Marc from the floor onto the narrow bed. As she did so, the elderly nun murmured. “You didn’t tell him did you? About Adèle and the children?”
“No, Sister, I didn’t tell him.”
“Thank God.” She groaned as she tried to move. “Don’t tell him to save me. I’m old, they’re young. Don’t tell him. Evil! Evil man!”
“It’s all right, Sister, stay still,” soothed Reverend Mother. “When it gets light we’ll have a look at your bruises. It’s all right.” She rested the nun’s head in her lap. There was little else she could do for her until she could see, except pray.
It’s all right, she’d said, but it wasn’t all right at all. Mother Marie-Pierre knew that Hoch would be back in a few hours, and the interrogation would start again. Would he use Sister Marie-Marc again to try and make her talk? Would he reverse the process and attack her, Reverend Mother, in an effort to make Sister Marie-Marc tell what she knew? So far they had been subjected to Hoch’s bullyboy tactics, but there were other ways of extracting information from an unwilling prisoner. And so she prayed, through the darkest hours of her life, prayed for strength and guidance, for deliverance for them all. Truly, she thought, we are in the valley of the shadow of death.
As the dawn light crept in through the grubby window, Mother Marie-Pierre was able to see the damage Hoch had done with his boot. Sister Marie-Marc lay in an uneasy doze, her face was swollen, her nose broken with one eye almost closed. Damping a corner of her own blood-soaked handkerchief with saliva, Reverend Mother wiped away some of the blood that had crusted round the old nun’s nose. Sister Marie-Marc’s breathing was uneven, and even in her fitful sleep she moaned and muttered with pain. Mother Marie-Pierre’s own face ached appallingly. Her right eye had swollen from Hoch’s punch, and she, too, was finding it difficult to breathe through her nose.
Outside she heard the sounds of a new day, men’s voices and the heavy tread of boots. She urgently needed to relieve herself, and unwilling to have an audience for this, she gently eased the slee
ping Sister Marie-Marc off her lap and went to the drain in the corner. When she returned to the bed she realised that Sister Marie-Marc was not asleep, but had drifted off into unconsciousness. Mother Marie-Pierre hammered on the door, trying to attract the attention of a guard, to get help, but if anyone heard her hammering, it was ignored. No one came. No one brought food or water. They were left in the cold silence of the cell. Occasionally there were sounds from outside; once she heard a piercing scream and the slamming of a door. Again she hammered on their door, but to no avail.
It was several hours before the bolts were again drawn back and Hoch strode in. He had not been idle in those hours and he was delighted with the results of his labours. He had begun by interrogating the Jews. Using the same technique, as with the nuns, he had them brought together in a cell. There Joseph was handcuffed to the wall, forced to watch as Hoch began to work on Janine. First he stripped her and then forced her to lie on her back, naked on the narrow bed, tying her wrists and ankles to the bed legs so that she was stretched out like a sacrifice. She had struggled against him, but she was no match for his strength, and a sudden punch to her head had sent her flying. She had screamed with fear and Hoch had shrugged. “You can scream all you like,” he said. “No one can hear you… and if they can, they won’t come.”
He glanced across at the pale-faced man. “You only have to answer my questions, Jew, and her pain will be over.” He had few of the more refined instruments of torture that were available at the Gestapo headquarters in Amiens, but Janine’s shrieks of pain as cigarettes were applied to her breasts and genitals soon had her husband singing like a nightingale. Within an hour Hoch had all the information he needed. His only failure was that the children were lost to him. Even the threat to put out his wife’s eyes had not produced the required information from Joseph, screaming frantically that he didn’t know. Hoch had come, reluctantly, to believe that he really didn’t know where his children had been taken. But Hoch now knew about everything else. About the Charbonniers, how they had let the family hide in the loft of the derelict cottage and kept them supplied with food; about the Launays, who had some connection with a girl called Antoinette who had brought them to hide in the convent; about a man called Marcel who had arrived with Antoinette to collect the children, one at a time, and taken them away. Hoch had not even needed the services of his “specialist” interrogator. He and he alone had this information. He would be the one to round up this little group of résistants. He would get the credit; none for the mealy-mouthed apology for a major, Thielen. He would stamp his authority on this place once and for all. And then maybe, just maybe, he would be moved from this godforsaken area to a more prominent job, in Paris perhaps. He had proved that the dreadful truth that his grandmother had been a Jew did not stop him from hunting down Jews wherever they hid, and sending them to the camps where they belonged.
The Sisters of St. Croix Page 35
