by Kate Parker
I hoped Adam would be held up in France chasing after Fleur until I had enough time to cross Europe by train and ferry. I wanted to see him before he had to return to his usual army duties. Under the best of circumstances, I’d be lucky to get to England by Tuesday afternoon.
“We want you to arrive safely with the goods we are sending,” the rabbi said. “It will be a long trip, yes, but this should be the safest way. At night, the border guards are not vigilant, and on Sundays I’ve been told they just wave people on to the ferries.”
I felt fear claw at my throat. The danger of theft or arrest from the border guards seemed more real by the moment. “Is there something wrong with the papers?”
“No. We think it is safer if no one notices what we are shipping. It might bring out the greed in the guards or the railroad personnel.”
“Will you come to see me off?”
The rabbi shook his head. “Some of my people will be the removals men with the truck. Perhaps the Mandels will go with you to see you off.” The rabbi looked at me with kindly eyes.
Now I understood. “The goods I am shipping are not supposed to be coming from the Jewish community.”
“You’re an agent buying from one collector and delivering the goods to another collector. Nothing could be more simple or commonplace.”
We finished dinner in silence. I felt uneasy, and I saw Mr. Mandel curling his hands into fists. Mrs. Mandel bit her lower lip.
After dinner, the women went into the kitchen to talk over coffee while the men stayed in the dining room. Mrs. Grenbaum sat down next to me and said, “Have you heard anything of my husband’s niece, Leah Nauheim?”
“I wondered if Leah is related to you. Yes, I’ve met her. She’s very pretty,” I said.
“Is she happy?”
I must have looked startled, because Mrs. Grenbaum said, “I’m sorry. I probably sound crazy.”
“Not at all. I’ve just never considered the question.” I thought a minute before I answered. “She loves her husband and he is devoted to her, but she seems a little lost. Haunted by the past, maybe? Or maybe she has trouble speaking English.”
“Her past is enough to haunt her,” Mrs. Grenbaum said.
I looked at her, puzzled, until she said, “Leah was married before, in Germany when she was quite young. Seventeen. The family liked the groom, but I didn’t think they would suit. I was right.”
I waited, hoping she would say more. When she didn’t, I said, “What happened to her?”
“Her husband was a firebrand. It wasn’t long before the Nazis threw them both into prison. When she was let go, just skin and bones and shaking, poor lamb, she fled Germany and came to us. She got better, and then she met her current husband and moved to England. Perhaps she’ll feel safe there. She was terrified here that the Nazis would come and take her away again.”
“It must have been a nightmare for her.” I couldn’t imagine the horrors of a Nazi prison.
“It was. I’d have killed Josef myself if the Nazis hadn’t done it for me.” I saw a fire in her eyes that made me believe her.
“Josef? Who’s Josef?”
“Her first husband. Josef Meirsohn.”
Despite the heat in the flat, I felt cold. Josef Meirsohn, also known as Elias, had been married to Leah Nauheim. She was a bigamist. Or had been, until he was murdered.
I didn’t know if that could get her deported back to Nazi Germany, but if I were her, I wouldn’t want to take the risk.
And what would David Nauheim think of their illegal marriage?
The murders of Elias and Reina now made sense. The object Elias had wanted his childhood friend to keep for him must have been their marriage certificate. The only proof in existence outside of Germany.
Except for the Grenbaums of Prague.
I couldn’t wait to get back to London. Then again, it meant a frightened woman would hang. Three deaths where there had been two. I found I wasn’t in such a rush after all.
I needed to know. “Mrs. Grenbaum, please tell me about Leah’s life before she came to England.”
* * *
I arrived the next night at the railway station in plenty of time and watched the removals van arrive. Two young, burly men loaded the wooden crates on board the baggage carriage while I went through the customs process with an indifferent guard.
When the guard strolled off to check in another shipment, one of the removals men came over to me and said, “Thank you. We’re two of the men who’ll be making our way to England to fight with your country.”
“Wish me luck. And good luck to you.” We exchanged nods before he disappeared into the night and I climbed aboard the night train.
I had finally fallen asleep when the border guards came on the train. They paid little attention to my papers or my customs forms as they grumpily went from one passenger to the next.
I rose then and walked to the door at the end of the corridor and stepped off onto the platform. An official shouted something at me in Polish.
“I came outside for some air,” I said in German. None of the guards were near the baggage carriage.
“Let me see your papers,” the official said as he came over to me.
My heart raced, making me wide awake. I tried to control my breathing so I didn’t appear so frightened.
“You are English,” he said in German.
“I don’t speak Polish,” I told him. “I hoped you spoke German so I could answer you.”
“You’d best get back on the train. It is leaving,” the official said, handing back my papers.
“Danke.” I climbed back on, certain no one had stolen my goods so far. I slept fitfully and rose early in Warsaw to supervise the transfer of the crates to the train bound for Danzig.
I nodded off a few times on the trip to the coast, and then had to use a mix of orders and bribes to get two porters with a hand truck to move my precious cargo from the train downhill the short distance to the ferry dock. There, as I watched, dockworkers shifted my crates on board into the hull. Another customs official, one who liked to flirt, meant I feared I wouldn’t get my papers stamped in time. But with a few minutes to go, he stamped them and I rushed on board. I gave a loud sigh when we set sail into the Baltic Sea.
We’d made it out of Poland.
We reached Sweden in the middle of the night. The border guard showed no interest in me or my crates there, holding up a hand to hide his frequent yawns. When it was my turn, I held up my English passport and he waved me through. I wondered if it was a reaction to the hypervigilance along the German border all over Europe.
With a mixture of cajoling, bribery, and pleading, I received help from another porter with a hand truck in moving my crates from the dock onto the train, but I had to assist him with the awkward crates. I just had time to find the telegraph office in the station and send Sir Henry a message letting him know I’d reached Sweden.
It was the next evening, Tuesday, before we reached Esbjerg. The Danish border guards were more efficient as they tried out their English, but they asked few questions. Once again I had enough time to send Sir Henry a telegram before we sailed. I would have liked to send Adam a telegram telling him what was going on, but I had no idea where to send a message.
I was so relieved to finally get onto the ferry to England with my crates that as soon as we left the dock, I went to my cabin, lay down on my bunk, and fell asleep.
I was awakened by the ship rolling in what felt like stormy seas. It was October. I shouldn’t have been surprised. I wasn’t, but I was frightened. I peeked out of my cabin. No one was in the passageway. I put on my coat and my shoes and went out into the passageway to climb the stairs.
With every step I thought, we can’t sink. I was carrying too many valuable things. Priceless articles from the Prague synagogues, and jewels and gold coins from the congregations, meant to support the young people they would send to Britain. And something else. I carried something evil and frightening. The identity of a murderer.<
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I’d have been happy to throw that burden overboard.
I reached the top level of the ferry by hanging on to the railings. Most of the seats were taken in the restaurant, but I managed to reach a chair at one of the tables. A steward came up to me, balancing carefully. “We can only serve coffee,” he said in heavily accented English.
“Coffee would be fine. What time is it?”
“In England? Four in the morning.” He must have seen the panic on my face, for he added, “This is the roughest part of the journey. And tonight it is not too bad.”
Not too bad? We had eight more hours. I drank the coffee he brought me and looked out the windows. It was black outside, so all I could see was the reflections of the people in the restaurant. Most of them didn’t look worried. Only tired or bored.
Going back to my cabin, I tried to get more sleep. I managed to doze off, only to awaken with a jerk. At least the sea didn’t feel as rough now. I fixed my hair in the tiny mirror, brushed off my clothes, and went back up to the restaurant to have breakfast.
I was hungry for bacon, eggs, and toast. I’d had too many blah dumplings with tough chicken or salted fish with salty soup on the trains and ferries on this journey. That morning, I was in luck. With all the English customers on this route, they did a reasonably good breakfast.
Energized by some sleep and a hearty breakfast, I was one of the first to disembark when we landed in Harwick. I hadn’t been standing in the passenger area long when Sir Henry, the Mandels, and Daniel Nauheim appeared.
“We’ve been keeping track of your journey by your telegrams,” Mrs. Mandel said.
“We’ve hired a truck to take the goods to London,” Sir Henry told me. “And Mr. Nauheim brought me out in his car to give you a ride the rest of the way home.”
“Good,” I murmured in his ear. “I need to talk to the two of you. In private.”
Sir Henry raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t ask any questions.
After a great deal of standing around, we finally saw the crates off in the truck, followed closely by the Mandels. Then Sir Henry, Mr. Nauheim, and I climbed into the Nauheims’ long, sleek car for the drive to London. The chauffeur sat in the wide front seat, while the two men and I were packed into the back.
“Has Fleur been apprehended?” I asked.
“No. She seems to have gone to ground in France. Captain Redmond and some other army types are still looking for her,” Sir Henry told me.
So Adam was still in France. I wished him luck so he could hurry back to London. To me.
“What else did you want to tell us?” Sir Henry asked.
“Mr. Nauheim, did Leah go with you to the meeting where Elias was introduced?”
“Yes, all three of us attended.”
I sighed and closed my eyes. This was going to be difficult. When I opened them, I found both men were looking at me. “Leah was married to Elias, when he went by his real name of Josef Meirsohn. They were arrested together by the Nazis because of Elias’s work. Leah believed that Josef, or should we call him Elias, died in prison. When she encountered him at the meeting, she realized she was a bigamist.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“What? That’s impossible,” Mr. Nauheim bellowed.
I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but I learned all this while I was in Prague. I will have to tell the police. I wanted to tell you first.”
At his glower, I continued. “When Leah was released, she went to Prague to live with her aunt and uncle. Elias was either released or escaped and went on attacking the Nazis.”
“Leah was already married when she and David wed? Why didn’t she say something when she saw Elias? No.” Nauheim shook his head, “It can’t be.”
“She thought he was dead. Elias was identified by a childhood friend, Reina, the other person murdered in the basement of the fashion salon. They met by accident near Elias’s hotel and Elias wanted Reina to keep something safe for him. That was the reason he was in the basement, but Reina was sent on an errand before they could meet. He was found dead before she returned.”
“What difference does that make?” Nauheim demanded.
“I think he planned to give Reina their wedding certificate for safekeeping. His pockets were emptied after he was killed. And since Leah was at the meeting, she would have found out not only that her husband was alive and in London, but where he was staying.”
“You think they met at the hotel? Then why kill him elsewhere? Why not just work out some sort of agreement?” Nauheim wanted to know.
“I don’t know. I also don’t know why she killed Reina. Reina might have been able to identify her, having met her years ago in her home village. Did Reina threaten to blackmail her? Tell the rabbi about her bigamy?” I had questions. I hoped Leah would provide the answers.
“Nonsense.”
Daniel Nauheim was angry enough that I thought he was going to throw me out of the car and make me walk back to London. His face grew redder as I continued.
“Both victims were struck from behind. They both felt safe turning their backs on their killer. And neither would fear a soft-spoken young woman like Leah.”
“I will hear no more of this!”
Sir Henry broke in. “Livvy, are you sure?”
“Yes. Mrs. Grenbaum, Leah’s aunt, whom I met in Prague, told me how badly Leah was suffering when she left prison in Germany and arrived in Prague. How happy Leah was when she met your son. How much Mrs. Grenbaum hoped that moving to London would make Leah feel safe.” I glanced at Mr. Nauheim. “And Mrs. Grenbaum told me her husband’s name was Josef Meirsohn.”
“There must be more than one Josef Meirsohn,” Mr. Nauheim growled.
“Who was jailed by the Nazis early in their reign? Valerie Mandel noticed that Elias recognized someone at the meeting. Someone he didn’t go over and speak to. Did Leah speak with him at any time during that meeting?”
Mr. Nauheim shook his head.
“When we had dinner, your son David teased Leah about not having been able to take her eyes off the handsome Elias. Are you certain they never spoke?”
“Only to say hello. Not more than a minute.” Nauheim frowned at me. “I’ll question her. I will. And we’ll see what she has to say.”
“We’ll go with you,” Sir Henry said.
Mr. Nauheim appeared ready to argue, but then he turned to me. “He called himself Elias. How do you know he was really Josef Meirsohn?”
“From Reina.”
“She’s dead,” he said in a brutal tone.
“Meirsohn, or Elias, whichever you want to call him, was also a British spy. The British general who told me this knew him by both names.”
“If he was a British spy, that’s all the more reason for the Nazis to assassinate him.” Nauheim glared at me.
“If the Nazis assassinated him, there was no need to kill Reina. But if Reina and Leah met up, Reina would have realized the truth. Leah killed her husband to hide the truth of their marriage.”
Mr. Nauheim appeared to deflate. After a minute, he rallied and said, “We will ask Leah. We will not judge her until she can speak for herself.”
We rode in silence for the rest of the trip to Richmond.
When we arrived at his beautiful, well-proportioned home, we climbed out of the auto by the walkway to the front door. Since I’d been squished in the middle and was already tired from my journey, I made a stiff, ungraceful exit from the back seat. Fortunately, it was growing dark so I doubted anyone noticed.
We went inside to find David and Leah waiting to invite us into the small parlor for tea. As Leah poured, Mr. Nauheim rose from his chair and poured himself a glass of brandy. It was then I saw Leah’s hand shake.
Her husband, David, didn’t seem to notice as he asked me about the trip. I told him I’d brought back all that the people of Prague had sent as individuals and as congregations. I was amazed at how little interest the shipment had generated along the journey, and there had been no problems.
&nb
sp; I barely had the last words out when Mr. Nauheim said, “Leah, were you married to Josef Meirsohn before you married David?”
“You know I was.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“And Josef Meirsohn was Elias.” Mr. Nauheim sounded brokenhearted as he spoke those words.
“No,” came out as a sob.
David rose and said, “What is this?”
I kept my voice calm and quiet as I sat down by her. “You recognized Josef at the meeting where he spoke to the committee. That must have been a shock. You thought he died in a Nazi prison. You thought he was dead.”
She looked at me through teary wide eyes and nodded.
David dropped back down into his seat next to his wife.
“But if Josef was still alive, that meant you were still married to him. A strong-willed, dedicated man like Josef would expect you to return to Germany with him. To take up his crusade against Nazi tyranny. You didn’t want to return there after what the Nazis did to you.” I understood that would have been a nightmare for any woman, particularly one as fragile as Leah.
Again she nodded.
“Did you ask Josef to forget he saw you? To tell no one he was your husband? To go back to Europe and fight his fight alone?”
This time, her nod was accompanied by tears streaming down her face.
“He wouldn’t agree to that, would he? He was going to tell.”
“He was going to tell David. I had to stop him.” Her voice was little more than a whisper.
“You killed him?” David said, peering closely at her face.
“Yes,” she sobbed. “I’d rather die than go back there. I’d rather die than leave you. It was easy to find out where Josef was staying. I went there to talk to him, but he was leaving the hotel. I followed him to that basement.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
