Escape by Moonlight

by Mary Nichols

  Amy watched as they began moving the rubble, brick by brick. Lumps of concrete and splintered wood and furniture were picked up carefully and thrown to one side. Every now and again they stopped to listen. They heard nothing.

  ‘Keep going,’ Amy begged. ‘Please keep going, I’m sure she’s there.’

  They had been working for hours and were exhausted. Some left to be replaced by others. Amy, tired of watching and doing nothing, joined in. It was dawn when they heard the faint cry of a baby. ‘Peter!’ she shouted. ‘Peter!’

  They all found reserves of energy and renewed their digging, taking great care not to dislodge anything that might be protecting the child. Bit by bit, they excavated the ruins of the staircase until they had made a small hole through which they could see Lucy, sheltering her child in her arms. He was covered in dirt and whimpering heartbrokenly.

  Everyone but the fire chief was sent away and he set about very slowly and very gently enlarging the hole. Amy gasped as a lump of wood shifted and a shower of dust enveloped the rescuer and those he was trying to rescue. Peter stopped crying and she feared the worst. When the dust settled, the careful excavation was resumed and the fireman reached downwards and the next minute brought Peter out. He handed him to Amy and went back to work.

  The poor little chap was filthy and scratched and he certainly needed his nappy changing. She didn’t care about that. She held him close and wrapped her nurse’s cloak round him. ‘You’re safe now, sweetheart, you’re safe.’

  ‘Stretcher!’ the fireman yelled.

  Two ambulance men ran up with one and Lucy was placed on it, just as the last of the staircase gave way and the chimney came toppling down, making everyone run for their lives. Amy dashed over to where the stretcher was being loaded into the ambulance. ‘Is she alive?’

  ‘Yes. We’ll get her to hospital. Better bring the baby and come too.’

  Lucy regained consciousness in the ambulance. ‘Amy, is that you?’ she murmured.

  ‘Yes, yes, it’s me. I’ve got Peter safe and sound.’

  ‘Look after him for me.’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘If anything happens to me, you’ll have him, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course, but nothing is going to happen to you. You’ve been badly shaken up and you look a mess, but that can soon be cured.’ She looked at the ambulance man for confirmation. He smiled but said nothing.

  ‘My chest hurts and I’ve got a headache.’

  ‘Are you surprised considering you had the weight of a whole house on you?’

  ‘The house is gone?’

  ‘Afraid so. But houses don’t matter, do they? They can be rebuilt. The important thing is that you are alive and Peter is alive and none the worse.’

  ‘Jack …’

  ‘I’ll let Jack know. In the meantime, you concentrate on getting better.’

  But Jack was nowhere to be found. ‘Off on a course,’ she was told when she tried to contact him at his base. She rang home.

  ‘Mama, I’ve got a favour to ask,’ she told her mother. ‘I’ve a friend here who’s been bombed out. She hasn’t anywhere to go. Can you put her up?’

  ‘Of course. Do I know her?’

  ‘Yes, it’s Lucy Storey.’

  ‘Lucy! Doesn’t she want to go home to her father?’

  ‘No, she doesn’t. And he wouldn’t have her anyway. She’s got a baby, a little boy.’

  ‘Oh, I’d forgottten that. ‘What about the child’s father?’

  ‘In the forces. I can’t contact him. You’re not going to say no because of the child, are you?’

  ‘Heavens, no. But what do you think Mr Storey will say?’

  ‘I don’t imagine he’ll care.’

  ‘When shall I expect her?’

  ‘I’ll bring her at the end of the week, when she is discharged from hospital. She’s under observation because of a bruised chest, but the hospital is so full, they will be glad to hand her over to someone else. All she needs is rest and quiet.’

  ‘Tell her to come. Tell her she will be very welcome. Mr Storey will see her arrive at the station. I’ll have Bennett drive over and pick you up. I think there’s enough petrol in the Rolls. Her father needn’t know she’s here, not to begin with, anyway.’

  ‘Mama, you’re an angel. Tell Mr Bennett to come to the hospital on Saturday midday.’

  The arrival of Lucy and Peter caused a stir among the remaining servants who were agog with curiosity, as was Bernard, who found himself staring at the baby, trying to see some likeness to Mr Lambert, but there was none. Frank Lambert’s hair was dark as night and his eyes were almost black. The baby was round-faced and fair with blue eyes, more like Jack than anyone, which only confirmed what he had told Edmund, but he kept that theory very much to himself. He wondered what Mr Storey would say when he realised where his daughter was. He certainly would not tell him and nor would anyone else, he realised, when Lady de Lacey, fussing over the new arrivals, warned them not to.

  Jack stood looking at the heap of rubble which had once been Lucy’s home and was suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of loss. Fighting back tears, he stood looking at the remains of what had once been a haven of tranquillity and saw only the loving face of Lucy and the cherubic face of Peter etched on the rubble. He suddenly realised, without a shadow of doubt, that there was no one and nothing he cared about more than Lucy and his son. They were everything to him, more than Belinda, more than ambition, more than his life. She had to have survived so he could tell her so, she simply had to.

  He had returned to base after his successful conversion to Lysanders, looking forward to a spot of leave and after that his new role in the Special Operations Squadron. He had heard about the so-called Baedeker raids while he was up in the Lake District, but not until he arrived in Norwich did he realise how severe the raid on the city had been. And to come face-to-face with this, so suddenly, had hit him like a blow to the stomach. Why had no one warned him? Surely Amy could have picked up the phone? Was she one of the casualties herself? Then he remembered she had no way of contacting him; no one at the base would have told her over the phone where he was and what he was doing. He turned on his heel and went to the nearest warden’s post.

  ‘Mrs Storey?’ the warden queried. ‘Yes, they got her out.’

  ‘Alive?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Think so? You’re not sure?’

  ‘Well, there were a lot of casualties, Flight Lieutenant, some so badly injured they probably didn’t survive.’

  ‘And the little boy?’

  ‘He was OK. Went off in the ambulance with his mother and the other young lady.’

  ‘Other young lady?’

  ‘Yes. A nurse who was passing by.’

  Amy! It had to be. He thanked the man and went to the hospital. His sister was on duty and he had to wait over half an hour before she managed to snatch a few minutes to talk to him.

  ‘Lucy’s OK,’ she said. ‘So’s Peter. They escaped with no more than cuts and bruises. They are at home.’

  ‘How can they be? The house has been destroyed. I’ve seen it. No one could be living there.’

  She smiled, understanding how distraught he was; the silly man had finally realised what a treasure he had in Lucy. ‘I meant home at Nayton Manor. She had nowhere else to go. I took her there. She and Peter are being cosseted and spoilt by Mama.’

  ‘Does Mama know …?’

  ‘Who Peter is? I didn’t tell her. How long before she puts two and two together is anybody’s guess.’

  ‘How could you do that, Amy? You knew how I felt.’

  ‘Yes, I did. The trouble is you didn’t know yourself. And I couldn’t let them be put in a hostel, could I? Not when they’re family. I suggest you go home and set things right.’

  ‘My God, Amy, you can be a real bully when you choose, can’t you?’

  She laughed. ‘It makes a change. You used to bully me dreadfully when we were children.’

 
; ‘I’ll be off then.’ He turned to leave and then stopped suddenly. ‘Does Storey know where his daughter is?’

  ‘He didn’t when I was there, but you know the village, everyone knows everyone else’s business. I doubt it can be kept secret for long.’

  He grinned and kissed her cheek. ‘See you.’ And then he was gone, leaving Amy to smile in satisfaction. Her brother was not the indifferent man he would have everyone believe.

  Annelise realised exactly how matters stood between her son and Lucy Storey when the girl ran into his arms as soon as he came through the door and Jack kissed her. It made Annelise look at Peter, who was in her arms and squirming to be put down. She set him on his feet and he toddled over to his parents and grabbed them both round the legs. Jack bent and picked him up and kissed him too.

  Only then did he turn to his mother. ‘Hallo, Maman. I see you have met this little fellow.’

  ‘Yes. I think you have a bit of explaining to do.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lady de Lacey,’ Lucy said. ‘I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know what Jack would say about it.’

  ‘Come into the morning room, both of you, we won’t be disturbed there. Then you can tell me all about it.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  The search for the so-called terrorists continued unabated. Already two dozen innocent Frenchmen had been executed. The resistants had known it might happen, but in the face of reality, Max began to wonder if the destruction of a freight train and a few tons of guns and ammunition was worth the lost lives. The railway line had been repaired and trains were running along it again, bringing supplies to the occupying troops and sending Frenchmen to work in German factories and whole families of Jews to goodness knew where. Giles told him that it was, that every defiant act proved the country was not subdued, that it still kept its fighting spirit and would never be beaten. But it didn’t help Max to come to terms with the arrest of Justine, that brave, wonderful girl, whom he had come to love. He wished he could visit her, to let her know she was not forgotten, but Giles advised very forcefully against even trying.

  ‘I’ve tried to see her more than once and been turned away,’ he said. They had met at the safe house they used in the suburbs. It was a small basement apartment, scantily furnished, but it did have a back yard from which it was possible to escape by clambering over a wall into a neighbouring garden. ‘For you to go would be foolhardy. How can we be sure Justine hasn’t given her captors your real name? Having you in prison isn’t going to help Justine and it would endanger the whole circuit. You ought to be putting your mind to our next operation. It’s the surest way to hasten the end of the war and have all the prisoners freed.’

  ‘I know, I know.’

  ‘Just to please you, I’ll try again to see her. As her principal, they might allow me to talk to her about school matters. I’ll say I need to know if she will be rejoining the staff again after the summer vacation.’

  Max was obliged to concede he was right. He gave a wry grin. ‘If you do see her, give her my love.’

  Giles left first and a few minutes later Max followed and made his way to his rendezvous with Etienne and their scheduled contact with London. They were going to meet in an apartment over an abandoned shop, its owner having joined the exodus to the south at the beginning of the occupation. He hung about, pacing the room, keeping away from the cobweb-festooned window in case he was spotted, but Etienne failed to turn up. He was still there at curfew time and deemed it wise to stay where he was until the morning.

  He dare not sleep and that gave him plenty of time to think. His thoughts went from thinking up ways of liberating Justine, each of which he discarded as impractical, to worrying about Etienne and wondering if he had been arrested. If Etienne had been picked up with his wireless set on him, there would be no way out for him. He would be shot, but not before he had been tortured. How strong would he be? How strong would any of them be? How much had been wrung out of Justine? Was Anne safe? He hadn’t seen anything of her since the night of the attack on the railway line when she had been acting as a messenger. Her instructions were the same as for everyone else: when someone was arrested, go to ground.

  And then there was Lizzie, whom he had once loved, or thought he had. He knew now he had been wrong. When all this was over, if they survived, he was going to have to tell her the truth. How would she take it? It seemed an age since he had spent his leave at Dransville and so much had happened that was bound to change people. As far as he knew she was still taking escapees over the border. Was she safe? Was Roger with her? How far could he be trusted? He had meant to ask Etienne to request more information about him, but without Etienne he had no way of communicating. The first thing he must do when daylight came and the curfew was lifted was to try and find out what had happened to his wireless operator.

  The night wore on. The city, which in peacetime had been awake twenty-four hours a day, was silent, its streets empty except for patrolling German troops and Vichy police. Now and again the silence was disturbed by the sound of a German truck and he held his breath, waiting for its engine to stop and to hear heavy boots climbing the stairs, and when it passed by he let out a sigh of relief. Not this time.

  He must have dozed, because he dreamt. He dreamt of Justine. They were in Scotland, walking in the hills hand in hand. It was summer and she was wearing a cotton dress printed with small flowers. Her hair was loose on her shoulders. Every now and again the wind lifted it and let it fall again. She was laughing; there was nothing of the half-starved Justine fighting her own war in Paris. He woke to find it was day and he was smiling.

  He heard a sound in the shop downstairs. Someone was creeping about down there. It must have been what had woken him. He went to the head of the stairs to listen. A door opened and a woman came into the hall at the bottom of the stairs and looked upwards. It was Anne.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ she said. ‘I thought you might have gone.’

  He leant over the banister. ‘Anyone with you?’

  ‘No.’ She joined him on the landing. ‘Etienne’s been arrested.’

  ‘I was afraid of that. What happened?’

  ‘That last transmission was a long one. The detector vans were only just round the corner. They caught him as he was packing up.’

  ‘You were there?’

  ‘Yes, waiting for instructions, but Etienne pushed me out of the window onto the roof of an outbuilding when we heard them on the stairs. I climbed down a drainpipe and ran off into the alley. I waited to see if Etienne followed me but when I saw them bundle him into a police van, I made myself scarce. I feel bad about leaving him.’

  ‘It was the right thing to do, you know that. Etienne knows it too.’

  ‘What are we going to do now?’

  ‘I’ll have to find some way of contacting London. We’ve got to get them out.’

  ‘Them?’

  ‘Justine too. They’ll hold out for a bit but we can’t rely on it for long. I’m going to the school. Giles was going to see if he could see Justine on school business, but if not, at least find out how she is. He’ll have to be told about Etienne. It makes everything so much more difficult. Until we know what’s happening, we must lie low. Where are you staying?’

  ‘With the count. I’m his new secretary. He’s got me papers and a new cover story.’

  ‘Good. You’d better go back there. I’ll let you know what our orders are.’

  He watched her go down the stairs and through the shop to the back entrance, and a minute or two later, he saw her emerge on the street from the alley and walk away. As soon as he saw her blend in with the crowds going to work, he himself left.

  Justine stood in the familiar office at rue des Saussaies facing the Gestapo major who had been her constant interrogator. Two months she had been incarcerated, two months in which she had become skeletal and try as she might she could not keep clean, nor free of vermin. Her hair, for want of a shampoo or even a brush and comb, was a tangled mass of curls whose colour ap
peared to be a dirty grey. Her clothes were shabby and smelly. There was nothing left of the chic Parisienne she had once been.

  She knew the routine by now. She would be asked the same questions over and over again to which she would give the same answers. Even the blows she received would come as no surprise. She wondered whether they would ever set a date for her trial but concluded they did not have enough evidence. That gave her hope that the others were safe. It also bolstered her courage.

  She wondered why the door of the office had been left open; she could see everyone who came and went along the corridor. ‘I’ve told you until I’m sick of telling you,’ she said, pretending not to look at the open door. ‘I know nothing about any illegal newspaper. I am a teacher, nothing more.’ It was like a mantra she repeated over and over again. ‘It’s in the statement I signed.’ The statement had been translated and altered at her insistence but in the end it approximated to her story and she had put her name to it.

  ‘Let’s leave the matter of the newspaper on one side,’ he said. ‘I want to know about the Resistance.’

  ‘I know nothing about that either.’

  ‘I am sure you are lying.’

  ‘I am telling the truth. If you have evidence to the contrary, then produce it and put me on trial, otherwise let me go. I want to get back to work.’

  ‘Teaching English, in the forlorn hope that it will come in useful.’

  ‘No, I am not allowed to teach English anymore. My lessons are in Italian. And French, of course.’

  She heard footsteps outside and, through the open door, caught a glimpse of Etienne being roughly escorted by two German soldiers. He had obviously been savagely beaten and looked dreadful. His face was a mass of bruises and he walked with a limp. For one second their eyes met and held, but it was enough to warn her not to react.

  The major left his desk to kick the door shut, but she was sure she was meant to see their prisoner. ‘We have been lenient with you so far,’ he said, returning to his desk. ‘But that cannot go on in the face of your continued refusal to cooperate.’ He waved to her escorts to take her away. ‘Let’s see if a few nights in a punishment cell will change your mind.’