by Kate Parker
“It’s ‘Madame Mareau’ to you. And you’ve upset everything, with your constant questions, poking your long nose everywhere. That’s why I decided not to use your drawing for an advertisement, even though it was good. You’ve disrupted my salon. And now Reina’s death is on your head.”
“I didn’t kill her. That was someone else’s decision. Someone else’s sin. I suspect Fleur’s.”
“No. She swore she didn’t do it. I believe her. She was angry about Reina’s death. Said it was unhelpful, bringing the constables back to snoop around the basement again.”
“Because her trunk was down there.”
Mimi gave me a dark look and didn’t respond.
I realized what this meant. “You knew about her trunk. You knew she was the French assassin.”
“Not until recently. Not until I was told.”
“By whom?”
She looked away. “Fleur.”
There was something about her voice. Something in the way she wouldn’t look at me. “The duke told you. Marshburn told you. Was it Marshburn’s idea to bring Fleur to London? Was Marshburn behind the attempt on Churchill?”
“Fleur told me.” Then she looked at me, her eyes blazing with anger. She rose from her desk and with her chin up, said, “Tell the police I have work to do.”
I knew I’d never get her to tell me the truth.
I went downstairs, gave Adam the address, and told them Mimi admitted to learning from Fleur that she was the French assassin. Disgusted with the woman who’d been my hero, I left to go back to the Daily Premier.
Walking into Sir Henry’s office, I said, “Fleur Bettenard is the French assassin. She’s escaped and they’re looking for her. You’d better check with General Alford before you print anything.”
“Good work, Livvy.” My publisher was all smiles.
I wasn’t smiling. “I can’t prove it, but I think the Duke of Marshburn is behind the French assassin coming here and attacking Churchill. I think it was his idea for Mimi Mareau to bring her fashion house here and bring Fleur along.”
“Can you find a way to prove it?”
“No. Mimi won’t give him up.” Then it occurred to me. “Unless Marshburn cuts his losses and drops her. Maybe then she will tell us about the French assassin and the duke’s role in her attacks.”
“It’s a good thought, but right now, you need to pack. You’re flying to Prague in the morning,” Sir Henry told me.
I wanted to continue to be part of the hunt for the French assassin or to search for Elias’s killer. However, the terms of my employment said I would travel to the continent or carry out other duties for Sir Henry as required. With a sigh, I asked, “What exactly will I be bringing back from Prague?”
“Riches beyond your wildest imagination. The silver altar pieces from the Old-New Synagogue in Prague.”
I felt my heart slam into my lungs. I was sure that instead of hunting for killers, I’d now become the target. “How many people will be trying to kill me to get their hands on all that silver?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“No one will be trying to kill you. The leaders of the synagogue want it out before the Germans come across the border. The Czech government doesn’t know anything about this shipment. If no one talks, you’ll be fine,” Sir Henry told me.
“How often have you known people not to talk?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It’s a chance we’ll have to take.”
“We?” It sounded like I was the one taking the chances, and I wasn’t happy.
“The Mandels will be going with you. They’ll vouch for you in the Jewish community, but if the ornaments are shipped under your name, the Czech government will be less suspicious. If anyone asks, you are there on behalf of a wealthy art collector.”
“Who? And am I empowered to drop his name?”
“Anonymous.”
Swell. “And why are the Mandels going there? Am I supposed to know them when we are away from the Jewish community?”
“No. We’ve arranged for them to stay in the same hotel so you can communicate, but you’ll arrive on different flights.”
“Will I be given bills of sale so no one accuses me of theft?”
Sir Henry nodded. “Fake, of course. No cash will change hands. They’ll be held in England as surety for funds to support the emigrants.”
“What if the Czech government, or someone else, wants to see evidence of this ‘payment’?” I could see so many things going wrong.
“The committee still has the account with the Swedish bank that we set up for Elias. Let me give you the details in case it comes down to a need for proof.”
He wrote out all the info and I put the paper in my purse. “When do I leave?”
“Early tomorrow morning.” He handed me my tickets, by air through Amsterdam and Berlin on my way in, by train and ferry on my way back. “I suppose you’ll leave Sunday, but that is up to your hosts. We’ve been warned the chances are too great that the silver will be stolen if you fly back.”
Wonderful. “What am I supposed to do?”
“If you go by train and ferry, you can watch the crates be loaded and unloaded from the baggage area. That will be the safest way, but it’ll take a little longer. If anyone asks, say your employer expects it of you.”
Sir Henry didn’t often look guilty, but this was one of those times. “How long will it take?”
“Three days. Maybe a little longer.”
“What if Adam has to go back to his training before then?” I said with dismay. That was my primary concern. The time we had together was too short as it was.
“You both have careers that take precedence, at least until Herr Hitler goes away.” Sir Henry gave an exasperated sigh. “Just marry him, will you?”
“You sound like my father.”
“You and Esther are so close and I’ve known you so long that I feel like your father. Or at least your uncle.”
I knew he meant well. “I was married before, to a man with a tame job working with credentials and details at the Foreign Office, and you saw how well that worked out.”
“That was unfortunate, but you’re not jinxed.” Sir Henry gave me a rueful smile.
I sighed, letting out my frustration with my breath. “Please let Miss Westcott know I’ll be off tomorrow working for you. I need to go home and pack.” And hope Adam called.
He did better than that. I’d just finished packing for the chilly trip to Prague when I heard a tap on the door. I answered the same time I heard his key in the lock. We were in the hallway with the door shut before he greeted me with a kiss that could have lasted all evening.
And might have, if he hadn’t spotted my suitcase in the hallway behind me.
“Where are you going?” he asked, trying not to sound disappointed. “Oh. Your trip for Sir Henry. When?”
I really didn’t want to tell him. “I go to Prague in the morning. I’ll be back sometime next week.”
“I have to leave Saturday morning to join the hunt for Fleur in France.”
“Oh, I was afraid of that.”
“Can’t you postpone until Sunday?”
“No. I’m not the one making these arrangements. Can you?” I knew he couldn’t, but my feelings were bruised.
“Tell Sir Henry you can’t go until Saturday,” his tone demanded as he pulled away from me.
“This time it’s not just Sir Henry. I’m involved in helping young Czechs gain entry at the behest of some Londoners who want them here to help fight against Hitler. There’s a whole committee making these arrangements.”
“And I suppose none of them asked you if this was convenient.” He dropped into Reggie’s favorite chair in the drawing room and shut his eyes.
He looked exhausted, and I felt guilty leaving him on such short notice for my work. Unfortunately, a lot of lives in Prague depended on me. Was it too much, I wondered, to have assignments for Sir Henry when Adam was out of town with the army?
I followed him. �
�No, they didn’t. Now we can either fight about this or enjoy our last night together until you get back to London.”
“Do you care if I come back to London?” He sounded like he was afraid I would break up with him.
“What is this? Of course I do. You have a demanding position, chasing after an assassin and who knows what else. I have a slightly less secretive position helping smuggle people out of the path of the Nazis.” And more, which I didn’t bother to mention.
“Jews.”
“People,” I corrected him. “Until Hitler’s gone and the world goes back to normal, we’re going to have to grab every chance we get to be together. And I’m still thinking about what you asked me. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”
He looked down, and after a pause, nodded. Then he glanced back up at me. “Oh, Livvy. I’m crazy about you. The whole time I’m off playing soldier,” he grumbled, “I lie in my bunk at night and think of you before I go to sleep. Wondering what you’re doing.”
“I’m thinking of you. Wondering where you are. Wondering if you’re safe.”
“Now I’ll be wondering if you’re safe.” He gave me a grin, but it was wistful.
“I will be. I won’t be breaking any laws, fighting with anyone, or trying to sail in rubber rafts. Unlike some people I could mention.” My smile was equally wistful.
He pulled me down onto his lap. “I’ll say it again. Let’s get married.”
I threw my arms around his neck. “Let’s get engaged. I’m not quite ready for marriage yet. I need to get used to the idea first.”
His expression turned serious. “Was marriage to Reggie that bad?”
“No. Not at all.” I swallowed, trying to find a way to be honest without sounding too frightened. “He was murdered here in London. Seeing him in the morgue, so pale and cold, when I’d just seen him the day before, alive…”
He nibbled on my ear. “I’m going to survive this war, Livvy. We both are. There’s no reason to fear the future.”
Acting braver than I felt, I said, “Then let’s get engaged and do this properly.”
“Anything else you want to do properly?” His grin widened.
I climbed off his lap and held out a hand. To my shock, he got down on one knee and asked me to be his wife in the proper and approved manner.
I said yes, and the celebration began.
* * *
The next morning, Adam rode out to Heston Aerodrome with me to see me off on the first leg of my trip to Prague. Once on the aeroplane, I slept most of the journey, tired out from the celebration the night before. I didn’t have a ring to show for my new status, but it didn’t matter. There was no one I wanted to tell until I returned to London.
I knew most of the population in Prague spoke German from the days of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, but apparently, it was considered patriotic after the decapitation of the Sudetenland not to use German. I found myself apologizing to taxi drivers and hotel clerks in English for not speaking Czech before I began apologizing in German.
I had been given directions to a small hotel in the Old Town by Sir Henry, where I checked in at mid-afternoon. I sneaked a look in the registration book while I had the desk clerk searching for a message from my employer. The Mandels hadn’t arrived yet.
I wandered down Charles Street to the Charles Bridge, marveling at the ancient architecture and the determined expressions on the faces around me. Hitler would meet an implacable enemy here. At least that was what the faces around me and the purposeful stride of many feet on the cobblestone streets said.
Would the Jews here stay and fight with their countrymen, or flee to Britain or America? Would they want me to take their goods for safekeeping in Britain or tell me to leave empty-handed?
From what I had learned in London, that debate had pretty much ended, and most of the Jews in Prague wanted our help to get as many of their congregation out as possible. I hoped the losing side of the debate didn’t tell the Czech government what I was doing.
As it started to grow dark with nightfall and thickening clouds, I hurried back to my hotel. I came in to find the Mandels heading for the stairs, following a porter carrying their luggage. I went to the desk and asked for my key to room 201 in a loud voice.
By the time I had my key in my hand, they had disappeared up the staircase. I climbed quickly and saw them heading toward the third floor as I reached my landing.
I went to my room and waited. In about fifteen minutes, there was a knock on the door. When I answered, Mrs. Mandel slipped in.
“Is there really a need for secrecy?” I asked her.
“Czechoslovakia has had a long, changeable relationship with its Jews. Now with Hitler and his Aryan views on the doorstep, who knows what the Czechs will do? And it’s imperative that the Czechs don’t know what you’re shipping out or who it will benefit.”
I nodded. “When will we do this, and how?”
“No one will be surprised that the entire community is in the synagogues since it will be the Sabbath at sundown. We’ll do it then.” Mrs. Mandel gave me a smile and added, “You’ll have to meet us at the Old-New Synagogue. Do you mind sitting through the service? We’ll go to dinner with one of the families afterward, and then start packing up what you will transport.”
Start packing? “Will this be heavy?”
“A little. And awkward. We’ll need to find a removals company to bring it to the airport on Sunday morning.”
“We will?” My voice rose and Mrs. Mandel flinched. “I wish someone had told me before now. I’ve already been told I have to go by train and ferry to make sure the goods get on and off the baggage car safely.”
“Is that what they decided? I’m sorry. That’s going to make a long trip for you. But I’m sure our hosts will know who to contact to get you safely onto the train.”
I certainly hoped so. And getting valuable goods through foreign customs wasn’t a time to start hoping for the best. “Where is this Old-New Synagogue and what time should I be there?”
Mrs. Mandel gave me the information and slipped back into the hall. I looked at the clock. I would need to leave soon to find my way in the street-lighted twilight to the place where this adventure, this madness, would begin.
Looking down on the street a few minutes later, I saw the Mandels cross the narrow road in front of the hotel. Time to go.
I went downstairs and left by the wide front door in the lobby. Plenty of taxis were out, as were lots of pedestrians hurrying along in the chilly wind. I suspected by later on that night, the air would be icy. I was glad I wore my heavy fur-collared coat, the collar dyed to match the black of the wool, and a wool felt cloche.
My legs inside my opaque stockings were freezing by the time I reached the steep-roofed synagogue. I was quickly directed to the women’s section and joined Mrs. Mandel. There I was introduced, in German, to Mrs. Vltiva, the rabbi’s wife.
“Do not worry, Mrs. Denis,” she said to me. “I have the pots on simmer and the lights turned on. You will not starve or eat in the dark.”
I looked to Mrs. Mandel for guidance.
She told me, “The Vltivas, and this congregation, are Orthodox. They do no work on the Sabbath. Cooking or turning on a light is considered work.”
“What do they think packing whatever I’m supposed to transport is?” I asked. That had to be work.
Mrs. Mandel’s eyes widened as my words sunk in. She obviously had no idea.
“It’s already done and moved to the Town Hall,” Mrs. Vltiva assured me. “It can sit there out of the way until Sunday morning.”
“Is there a packing list spelling out the contents? I’ll need that to get through customs, along with a bill of sale.”
The service began as I was speaking, and several women shushed me.
It was hauntingly beautiful, the vibrant men’s voices echoing in the high-roofed room, but I didn’t understand a word. I sat quietly and let the sound wash over me.
After what seemed like eternity, the s
ervice ended and Mrs. Vltiva rose and said, “Come with me.” I followed Mrs. Mandel out. “We will answer all your questions at dinner.”
Dinner with the Mandels, the Vltivas, and their neighbors the Grenbaums was filling and flavorful, the dumplings with chicken chunks and broth particularly good. While we ate, they told the Mandels and me about the Josefov, the Jewish Quarter. Fortunately, we all spoke German. It was the only language we had in common. Considering it was also the language of the Nazis, it felt odd.
“I noticed a number of Art Nouveau buildings as we walked here after service,” I said.
“Most of the quarter was ancient, a slum. At the turn of the century, many of the buildings were torn down and replaced by new blocks of flats,” the rabbi told me. “Many of the fronts were embellished with Art Nouveau designs.”
“They’re lovely,” I replied, but my mind was on business. “Please, I need to know about the paperwork to get through customs on Sunday.”
“The shipping papers are all ready, plus we want to give you a list of those we most want to get out of Prague. Young people. Young families.” They passed me a sheet of paper covered with names.
“There must be a couple of hundred names on this list.”
“What is in the crates is worth the support of these people for a hundred years,” the rabbi told me.
I had the challenge of transporting this fabulous wealth across several national borders by myself, without having the treasure stolen or being murdered. I wouldn’t breathe deeply again until I was back on English soil.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I put the paper in my handbag. “I also need a bill of sale listing the items mentioned on the customs declaration.”
“It’s in the Town Hall with the crates. Where will you want them delivered?” The rabbi had a calm, soft voice, reassuring at this perilous moment.
“The train station. I’m going through Warsaw to the coast and then on the ferry to make my way home.” I’d studied the train and ferry timetables. I thought I could make all my connections without difficulties.
The rabbi considered for a moment. “You might have better luck on the night train. How do you feel about leaving Prague at ten on Saturday night? That train will get you straight to Warsaw and then you can transfer to another for the Gdansk area. From there you can get a ferry to eastern Sweden on Sunday afternoon.”
