by Kit Sergeant
“Do you think their circuit was compromised?”
He gave a heavy sigh. “I certainly hope not, but the Nazis seem to have a way of penetrating much further into the Resistance than we’d like.” He held out his good arm. “What do you say we try our damndest to keep them out of Wizard?”
Didi earnestly shook his hand. “Agreed.”
Chapter 59
Mathilde
Mathilde was taken to Aylesbury Prison in Buckinghamshire, a red-bricked Victorian monstrosity complete with an arched gate. Her accomplices took her through the front door of the prison and into the office of a gray-haired woman, who stood upon seeing her. “You must be Madame Carré.”
Mathilde nodded.
“I’m Miss Mellanby, steward of Aylesbury. The SOE has asked me to make special arrangements for your detention, and, consequently, you will be staying in the D-wing with three other women, who’ve also been detained under the Aliens Order.”
“Do I not get a private room?”
Miss Mellanby gave her a tight smile. “Under the circumstances, I’m sure you will find little fault with the accommodations that have been bestowed upon you by our benevolent government.” She reached into her desk and took out a long key.
The two detectives trailed behind Mathilde and Miss Mellanby as she led them down the main alleyway of the prison. Some women in baggy striped uniforms gave them despondent looks as they passed by. Mathilde noted that most of them were younger than herself.
“Here we are.” Miss Mellanby opened a heavy steel door to reveal a large space containing a long wooden table, a tiled shower and sink, and a forlorn-looking refrigerator. Four beds lined the walls, each with a nightstand and metal chair. There was a small nook in one corner, which, Mathilde guessed, housed the toilet.
“Thank you, gentlemen.” Miss Mellanby asked them to wait in her office as she pulled the heavy door shut. She moved to the middle of the room, gesturing for Mathilde to follow her. “Ladies, I’d like to meet your new companion,” Miss Mellanby called.
The other women, all dressed in plain-clothes of varying styles and degrees of extravagance, walked over. The woman who introduced herself as “The Duchess de Château Thierry” wore a floral dress and pearls while May Erikson, a dark-haired woman clearly of Jewish descent, sported unkempt trousers and a wrinkled shirt.
“I’m Stella Lonsdale,” the youngest of them stated. She was wearing a faded striped dress. “What’s your name?” She took a step closer and peered into Mathilde’s eyes. “You look like a cat. Are you French?”
Mathilde nodded.
“Then we’ll call you ‘Mitou.’ It means ‘Queen Cat,’” Stella told the others.
“What is she the queen of?” the Duchess asked, eyeing Mathilde’s black pajamas with disapproval.
“We’re all here because of expected collusion with the Germans,” Stella told Mathilde. “Are you a spy?”
“For the Allies,” she replied. “I helped found one of the first Resistance networks.”
“If that’s true, then why are you in an English prison?” the Duchess demanded.
Mathilde, who had no answer, set her bag down on the empty bed and began to unpack.
Miss Mellanby cleared her throat. “I will be taking my leave of you ladies now. Miss Kate will be here at the usual time with dinner.” She turned to Mathilde. “Now, who will be providing your monthly allowance?”
“Allowance? Am I not in prison? I would think it is up to the British government to pay for my meals and lodging.”
“Indeed,” May stated. “But seeing as you are a political detainee, you should be afforded some additional cash for incidentals. The Swedish consulate takes care of my meager fees.”
“And mine are paid by my ex-husbands,” the Duchess declared. “As you can see, it allows me to afford new clothes, linens, and extra food, among other things.”
“Yes,” Stella added. “While the meals here are not horribly distasteful, they don’t feed us nearly enough. You can make arrangements with one of the guards on what you want purchased from town.” She pointed to the fridge. “But make sure you keep your hands off other people’s stuff.”
Mathilde didn’t miss the glance exchanged between May and the Duchess and imagined that very scenario had recently caused strife among her fellow prisoners. But who would be willing to send cash in her name? Not her ex-husband, not Armand, and certainly not Bleicher.
“I’ll see if I can negotiate with your escorts,” Miss Mellanby told Mathilde. “We can probably work a payment out via the SOE.”
Mathilde’s eyes widened. Perhaps prison life wouldn’t be so bad after all. “Please do.”
Chapter 60
Odette
Odette floated in and out of consciousness for the next few days, her destroyed feet bound in a shredded bedsheet.
Just as she was once again beginning to feel human, she was summoned again. “Tribunal!” the woman in gray shouted.
Odette limped behind the guard, forcing a single phrase to occupy her thoughts. I have nothing to say, I have nothing to say.
This time when they reached 84 Avenue Foch, she was taken to a new room and offered a chair. With a sense of dread, she wondered what they could possibly do to her now, though she did not have to wait long for the perfumed man to enter the room. “What do you know of Peter Churchill?”
Her customary answer on her lips, Odette realized this was her chance to convince him that Peter was completely innocent of any wrongdoing. “He’s my husband,” she replied instead. “I was a Frenchwoman, and angry about the Occupation. I was the one who told him to take up with the Resistance, but he didn’t do much for them before he was arrested.”
“No, I don’t suppose he could have, seeing he’s the most asinine imbecile I’ve ever had the chance to query.”
Odette wanted to shout back that the interrogator was lucky to even have been in the same room with someone as irreproachable as Peter, but she bit her lip, knowing this was just another game. “Yes, I realize my husband is no prodigy. I had to tell him what to do, both in life and in espionage.”
“Did you plot against Germany for money?”
“No,” she replied honestly.
“A shame.” He scribbled something on the pad of paper in front of him. “You will probably be killed without question, but your husband might live.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “Why do you say that?”
He shrugged. “He’s an English officer, and a Churchill at that. He’ll most likely be exchanged.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. Peter would survive the war, and, despite what the interrogator said, maybe she would too. But what then?
The interrogator left Odette alone with her thoughts for at least an hour before the door banged open again. Four uniformed officers filed into the room followed by an older man in civilian clothes, whom she decided must be a senior member of the Gestapo. He addressed Odette in rapid German as the other men nodded in unison, as if they were puppets being controlled by the same master.
The civilian finished his tirade, looking at Odette expectantly.
She shook her head. “I do not understand German.”
He looked put out for a moment. One of the officers stepped forward and seemed to ask permission of the Gestapo man, who handed him a piece of paper. The officer turned to her, speaking French in a thick accent. “Madame Churchill, you have been sentenced to death on two accounts—for being both a French spy and a British operative.”
“Well which is it?” Odette demanded. “As you know, I can only die once.”
The man cleared his throat and reread the sentence to himself, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Both,” he replied finally. “You are condemned once for France, and once for England.”
I guess I shall never know for which country I will give my life. Odette tried to cheer up by telling herself that for every tragedy, there is an element of comedy.
When she was brought back to Cell 108, she notice
d a new symbol on her door—a little red cross. Upon spying it, the SS guard asked curiously, “Avez-vous été condamné à mort?”
She nodded. “Condamné à mort.”
She repeated the phrase in her head as she lay back in bed. I’ve been condemned to death. But the words had no effect on her. She, Odette Sansom, who had delivered a few messages to other members of the Resistance, had made herself as useful as she could to men like Peter Churchill and Alec Rabinovitch. Her lips turned up into a smile as she thought of the brawny Russian Alec who still roamed free, wreaking havoc on the Nazis. Perhaps he had helped with the RAF raid on the perfumed man’s precious Dortmund. It was as it should be, and she would gladly take on a thousand death sentences if it meant Alec could still do his job.
Or that Peter would be safe. She buried her face in her arm—just the thought of Peter made her want to weep for days. But then again… She sat up, thinking about the conversation with the perfumed man that morning. Maybe, just maybe, she did manage to save him by taking on the double death sentence.
For the first time since she’d been arrested, she slept soundly that night, dreaming of a thousand little red crosses decorating her cell door.
Chapter 61
Didi
Miss Atkins came to the airfield to see Didi off.
“If my sister returns, will you let her know where I am?” Didi couldn’t help but feel a little pride when she pictured the astonishment on Jackie’s face once she learned Didi had finally been sent to France.
Miss Atkins lips pursed. “I don’t imagine Jacqueline would be pleased to hear of your mission, though she knows as much as anyone how desperate we are for wireless operators in the field.” She straightened the collar of Didi’s jacket. “Good luck, Miss Nearne.”
The Lysander could only fit two people comfortably, and, with Didi, Jean Savy, their luggage, and items meant for the Resistance —guns, ammunition, and medical supplies—it was a tight squeeze. She gripped the handle of the bag at her feet so hard during lift-off that her knuckles turned white.
Her unease finally diminished when she saw the reception committee’s red lights flashing the right code in Morse. The touch-down was only moderately bumpy, but Didi still felt her stomach lurch as the plane came to a stop.
When she disembarked, she was greeted by two shadowy figures. For a moment she was terrified they were Germans, but then one of them told her to hurry in a heavy French accent. With that, she felt the rest of her panic disappear.
Savy appeared beside her and grabbed her hand with his good arm. “We’d better get going.”
“Jean Savy,” another French accent declared.
Savy turned. “Henry.” He let go of Didi to shake the other man’s hand. “On your way back to England?”
“Indeed.” Henry nodded at his companion, who tipped his hat at Savy before entering the Lysander.
“This is Jacqueline du Tetre,” Savy said. “She’s going to be Wizard’s wireless operator.”
Henry peered at her. “Aren’t you a little young for this? You know that Nazis have no discrimination for age: they kill young and old alike.” He gestured to the Lysander. “We can still bring you back to London and tell Buckmaster, if he insists on recruiting females, at least they should be women and not girls.”
Didi raised her chin. “Buckmaster’s orders are to follow Savy to Paris. And I always obey orders.”
“And this ‘girl’ is one of the best wireless operators Buckmaster’s got.” Savy gave Henry a mock salute. “Safe flight.”
When the men had boarded, Savy shot Didi a wry grin. “Sorry about their rudeness.”
“It’s okay—I’ve gotten used to it by now.”
Savy once again took Didi’s arm and led her further into the woods, where their reception committee awaited. They showed them to a barn, stating this would be their hideout until morning.
After longing to work for the Resistance for so long, a restless night in a barn was not quite what Didi had pictured. She spent most of the time lying on a dirt floor staring up the spider-filled eaves, scratching at the hay which poked at her entire body, and trying to forget that she was freezing.
In the morning, Savy said his goodbyes before going off to locate the missing France Antelme.
One of the men of the reception committee informed Didi that he would take her to a safe house in Orléans. Didi felt a twinge of regret as they left the sight of the barn, for as horrid as the previous night had been, at least she’d felt a modicum of safety. Now they were going out into the open, to see firsthand how well her training had prepared her to be amongst the enemy.
The sun was just rising as they made their way to the train station and, to Didi’s relief, they encountered few people along the way. The station master merely glanced at Didi’s papers before waving her aboard the train.
As soon as they reached Orléans, however, Didi felt a mounting sense of terror. German soldiers were everywhere, stalking the streets in their grayish-green uniforms.
“For God’s sake, don’t stare at them like that,” her companion hissed.
Didi felt her face grow red and glanced down at the sidewalk, willing her looming tears to dissipate. How could I have been so stupid? She not only had to reinvent herself as Jacqueline du Tetre—she also had to act as though she were used to the presence of the German Army.
Her companion led her into the station and set her bag down. “This is where I leave you.”
“Thank you,” Didi said, hoisting the bag.
The young man turned to depart, but then hesitated. “Will you be all right? It’s not an easy job, you know. Especially—”
“I’ll be fine,” she snapped. She was tired of people underestimating her. Jackie might be off gallivanting around France as a master spy, but Didi was still being treated as the inferior little sister, a child to watch over or dismiss.
When the train arrived in Paris, Didi immediately set off to find her contact. Buckmaster had told her it would be a woman named Louise.
It was snowing heavily. Luckily Didi was quite familiar with the Left Bank of Paris, for she could barely see anything, not even the towering spires of the Notre Dame Cathedral. She could still see the gargoyles on top of the cathedral in her mind’s eye, their faces taking on those of the Boches she had seen on the train.
She’d been told Louise would be waiting for her on the bridge. As Didi arrived, she could see a small woman around her own age standing just to the left of the statute of Henry IV.
“Jackie!” the woman shouted.
Didi’s first instinct was to tell the woman she had the wrong sister, but then she remembered her codename. The two women hugged each other as if they were old friends.
“I’m so excited you’ve come to visit me.” Louise tucked her hand into the crook of Didi’s elbow. “It’s about time you came to visit fair Paris.”
“Yes,” Didi’s voice was hoarse. “I am glad too.”
Louise chatted amiably about nonsense all the way back to her apartment in the Place Saint-Michel. Didi, guessing that the act was for the benefit of any Germans in the vicinity, tried to chime in whenever Louise paused for a breath of air. Though the white-out also blinded them to the despised German soldiers she imagined were everywhere, Didi had to refrain from glancing over her shoulder every now and then.
Once they were safely behind closed doors, Louise’s expression turned serious, but she did not slow her speech. Now the gossip had turned to instructions. “You will need to find a new accommodation as soon as possible. You can have your messages delivered here, but you cannot yourself stay for long. It’s too dangerous to my family: I live with my mother and sisters, and they don’t know I’ve joined the Resistance.”
“I’ll look for a room in the morning.”
“And a place to transmit from?”
Didi, impressed with Louise’s knowledge, nodded.
“I can help you,” her new friend told her.
Didi suddenly felt exhausted. “T
hank you.”
“Come on.” Louise once again linked her arm through Didi’s. “Let’s get you a nice warm bed.”
“That would be so wonderful.” Didi told her about her dreadful sleep the night before as Louise gathered pillows and blankets.
She led Didi down a small hallway. “You can sleep in my brother’s room.”
“Is he…”
“Dead.” Louise started to make the bed. “And now you know why I’ve joined the Resistance.” She handed Didi another blanket. “It’s not the most comfortable bed in the world, but it should be loads better than a dirt floor in a barn.”
“Oh, I’m sure it will be.”
“Good night, and…” Louise paused at the bedroom door. “Thank you for what you are doing for the Allies.”
“Thank you,” Didi said again, feeling the words were a bit inadequate for the amount of gratitude she felt.
Louise departed, leaving Didi in admiration of someone who, despite being what some might consider “too young,” was clearly confident in her own abilities.
Didi fell into a blissful sleep, pleased that, though she couldn’t stay there permanently, at least she had a roof over her head and a friend to help her in her new mission.
Chapter 62
Odette
One rainy afternoon, Odette was drawn to her cell window by a commotion outside. A middle-aged man, British by the look of his trousers, was being marched around the yard. As she watched, the man’s bare feet slid in the mud and a guard barked an order. He righted himself and continued. Round and round he paced, and if he slowed even by a hair, the eagle-eyed guard would raise his rifle before once again shouting at him. Odette’s stomach turned at the way he was being treated—like a caged beast—and she walked away from the window, only to be drawn back by the diversion.
