V for Vengeance

by Dennis Wheatley

  She looked at him with a puzzled frown. ‘But there is no question of peace, and cannot be, for months or perhaps years yet. You yourself said that the French Government would go to North Africa and carry on the war from there.’

  ‘I said they might,’ he admitted, ‘but that was yesterday, and the Marshal didn’t mention anything of that kind in his broadcast.’

  ‘Why should he? He spoke only of asking for honourable terms for the Army in France.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Pierre shuffled uneasily. ‘But if you’re right it means that we shall be prisoners here at the mercy of these brutes for years while the British and our own people outside France try to starve them out.’

  ‘Of course! Did I not say that things would be grim here? What else did you expect? Surely you realised that yesterday, when you suggested that our Government might go to North Africa?’

  ‘Well, to tell you the truth, I hadn’t had much time to think about it then.’

  ‘Surely you would not have them throw their hand in altogether?’ she asked sharply.

  ‘Mais non, mais non!’ he exclaimed, just a trifle too quickly. ‘For myself, I am all for fighting on, but it does not lie with us. It depends what Pétain and the rest of them decide in Bordeaux.’

  In spite of his glib assurance, Madeleine felt absolutely certain now that he would have much preferred a total surrender, so that, whatever humiliation France might have been made to suffer in loss of territory or prestige, he might the sooner resume his normal life again of painting a few pictures whenever he got hard up, and spending the rest of his time talking and drinking with his friends in the art clubs and bars.

  She was not angry with him, only a little contemptuous of his weakness, as she said quietly: ‘You’re making a big mistake if you think that we’re going to get rid of the Boche so quickly now that he has got to Paris. You must excuse me now, Pierre. I’m sure that I heard maman calling me.’

  She had not heard her mother, but at that moment she did not feel like talking to him any more, because she did not want to be rude again; it was a convenient excuse to close the door and get rid of him.

  That evening, just as she and her mother had finished supper, they had another visitor—Georges’ Uncle Luc. Madeleine had seen him at the funeral, but had not spoken to him since they had met in that very room and she had fainted at the sight of her stricken fiancé. She now went deathly white and made a motion as though to reclose the door, but Uncle Luc removed his little bowler hat from his tall, narrow head with a courteous, old-fashioned bow and asked her permission to enter, upon which she felt that it was quite impossible to shut him out.

  Once inside, he inquired after her mother, saying that he had come to see them both, and asked if Madame Lavallière would receive him.

  Madeleine waved him to a chair, and, her face still drained of blood, went in to speak to her mother. Tied to her bed as she was, Madame Lavallière was used to receiving visitors in her room and she at once began to tidy herself, while reasoning gently with her daughter.

  ‘Ma petite, I know how distasteful Luc Ferrière’s visit must be to you. Naturally you feel that it was through his stupidity that poor Georges met his death; but you must endeavour to be reasonable. We have known the Ferrières for many years, and in times like these old friends must not quarrel. Try to remember that this visit is probably even more painful for him than it is for you, as almost certainly he has steeled himself to come here and express his regrets for what happened. You have a generous heart, my child. Now is the time to be magnanimous and forebearing.’

  Only that morning Madeleine had been enunciating the self-same doctrine to Pierre, so she nodded dumbly and braced herself for the interview.

  When the Mayor of Batignolles was shown in, having greeted Madame Lavallière, he perched himself on the edge of a hard chair, placed his bowler hat upon his bony knees, and removing his pince-nez started to polish them.

  After coughing twice he began in a pompous voice: ‘No doubt you will have guessed the reason for my intrusion. In these sad times none of us can afford to harbour hard feelings against our neighbours, and, although of course no fair-minded person could possibly attach any blame to me for the shocking event which occurred here a few nights ago, I felt it would be a gracious gesture on my part to express to you both personally my deep distress in our mutual bereavement. You will, I am sure, not have overlooked the fact that Georges’ death is a sad blow to me as to yourselves—in fact, he was my favourite nephew, and nothing could possibly have induced me to bring those Germans here had I had the least idea of the violent act that they contemplated.’

  As he mouthed his pretentious phrases Madeleine could have struck him. She knew that he and Georges had never had anything in common and that for the past two years they had barely been on speaking terms. Georges had only kept his room in his uncle’s house because he was always so busy and occupied it so rarely that he had felt it too much trouble to move elsewhere, and the old man had only allowed him to retain it because he loved money and was loth to sacrifice the useful rental which he received from his mainly absentee tenant. Her eyes were narrowed and the corners of her mouth twisted down in an ugly sneer, but fortunately he could not see her face as she was standing at the foot of her mother’s bed, his back half-turned towards her.

  ‘Of course, my dear Luc,’ Madame Lavallière was saying in conciliatory tones. ‘Please do not distress yourself. Madeleine and I perfectly understand that what happened was no fault of yours. How could any of us foresee that those brutes would shoot the poor boy down when he refused to go with them?’

  ‘Ah! There you have it!’ he held out a long nicotine-stained finger to mark his point. ‘If only Georges had listened to reason. If only he had gone quietly the poor fellow might be with us now. Really, you know, although one hates to say it, he brought his tragic end upon himself.’

  That was too much for Madeleine. ‘How can you?’ She burst out. ‘How can you say such a thing? They meant to take Georges away and shoot him. I know they did! He told me so. He took the only chance he had, and at least before he died he succeeded in ridding the world of one of these filthy Germans.’

  Luc Ferrière turned to her and slowly shook his head. ‘My poor child, I freely forgive your outburst because you are still overwrought. I can see that I should have allowed a longer time to elapse before calling upon you; then you would have been more yourself. But, in view of the news which we all received this morning, I felt that perhaps it was particularly appropriate that I should choose this evening for my endeavour to bridge any misunderstanding which may lie between us. With Marshal Pétain’s declaration and by his wise decision this terrible war is now over. Within a month or so at the most the world will have peace again.’

  Madeleine was biting her lip, so before the girl could burst out afresh Madame Lavallière turned quickly to their visitor.

  ‘The request for an armistice does mean an end, then, to the fighting everywhere? The Government, after all, are not going to transfer themselves with the Fleet to North Africa?’

  ‘No, no!’ exclaimed the Mayor in shocked surprise. ‘Thank goodness sane counsels have prevailed. Such a move could only prolong the war indefinitely and bring endless misery to us all. Monsieur le Maréchal spoke for the Empire, as well as for France, when he asked for an armistice.’

  ‘Are you—are you absolutely certain of that?’ Madeleine whispered.

  ‘Of course! I have it officially. The terms of the armistice are not yet agreed, but there is no question of hostilities being continued in any portion of the French Empire.’

  ‘But that is shameful!’ Madeleine cried. ‘We have immense resources outside France, and for us to throw our hand in altogether like this is the worst possible treachery to our Allies.’

  Luc Ferrière shrugged his lean shoulders. ‘Be reasonable, Madeleine. Of what do our Allies consist? Norway, Belgium, Holland—all those countries are beaten already. Their armies are defeated, and although their
Governments have fled to Britain, what can a handful of exiles possibly do there against our late enemies?’

  ‘There is still the British Empire,’ said Madeleine hoarsely. He gave a little cynical, high-pitched laugh.

  ‘Surely, my dear, we have learnt our lesson in that direction? In two wars now the British have used us for their own selfish reasons to bolster up their top-heavy Empire. But in the recent campaign they revealed themselves in their true colours at last. After fighting in Belgium for a fortnight, they left us in the lurch, and scrambled home as quickly as they could. Now that our wise leaders have seen that peace is more valuable to the world than massacring thousands of men for platitudes, Britain will sue for peace within a week.’

  ‘I wonder?’ said Madeleine slowly. ‘Perhaps they let us down but I don’t think they did so intentionally. To have done so just wouldn’t have made sense. Perhaps they’re not strong enough to fight alone, but they’ve still got their Navy, and they’re such strange people—even Napoleon said that they never know when they’re beaten,’

  Luc Ferrière’s nasal laugh came again. ‘That was a long time ago. The British were different then. They hadn’t got soft from too much prosperity.’

  Madame Lavallière raised herself a little on her pillows. She was desperately afraid that at any moment Madeleine and the Mayor of Batignolles might begin to quarrel violently, and her eye lighted on the clock. With sudden relief she stretched out her hand to the wireless beside her bed and turned the knob, as she said:

  ‘It’s just time for the British news bulletin. Madeleine speaks excellent English and she will be able to tell us what they have to say themselves about Marshal Pétain’s speech this morning.’

  Luc Ferrière nodded. ‘I too know quite enough English to understand what they say on the wireless.’

  The announcer was already speaking. A German station was trying to jam the B.B.C. with music, but the jamming was not very effective, and they heard him say that before the news listeners would hear the Prime Minister, The Right Honourable Winston Churchill.

  Madame Lavallière endeavoured to pick out a sentence here and there. Luc Ferrière sat with downcast expressionless face. Madeleine, standing at the end of the bed, gripped its edge with ever-rising excitement until the last great declaration of defiance made music in her brain.

  ‘What has happened in France makes no difference to British faith and purpose. We have become the sole champion now in arms to defend the world cause. We shall defend our island, and with the British Empire around us we shall fight on, unconquerable, until the curse of Hitler is lifted from the brows of men.’

  ‘There!’ she cried triumphantly, as the dogged, courageous voice ceased; and for her mother’s benefit she translated the last sentence into French. ‘They will fight on, unconquerable, until the curse of Hitler is lifted from the brows of men. You heard that, Monsieur Ferrière—you heard it! Now what have you to say?’

  He spread out his hands and gave a little pitying smile. ‘The old lion may roar, but he has lost his teeth. The English Channel is not the barrier that it used to be. Now that great fleets of aeroplanes can be sent against the island Hitler and his Luftwaffe will make short work of Churchill.’

  For a moment all Madeleine’s hopes were dashed once more. What he had said of the English Channel seemed so true, and if once the Germans could make a landing, covered by their great Air Force, how could the little British Army, which had already lost most of its equipment at Dunkirk, possibly stand up against all the armoured millions that Hitler could launch against it?

  Luc Ferrière was speaking again. ‘You see now how stupid it is to cherish these wild ideas that it is possible any longer to defeat the might of Germany. Since that is so, it becomes the duty of all to accept the situation and turn our energies to recovering from the effects of the war as quickly as we can. Our own political system has failed lamentably, and however much our propagandists may have taught us to dislike Hitler we cannot escape the fact that with his vision and great ability he has rebuilt a new, strong Germany in a remarkably short time. No doubt he has his plans for a full reconstruction of Europe, and to endeavour to thwart him would only be to bash our heads against a solid wall. Germany offered her friendship to France before the war in an attempt to keep her out of it. Very foolishly we preferred to sacrifice ourselves to the interests of Britain; but that is all over now—a folly of the past, which should be forgotten. We must accept our defeat with clam and dignity—I think I used those words the other night, and our great leader used them only this morning. Then by giving our full co-operation and goodwill to our late enemies we may hope…’

  ‘You—you really mean that you’re prepared to help the men who killed Georges!’ gasped Madeleine. ‘You can’t! It’s horrible! Utterly horrible!’ And with a little cry of despair she ran from the room.

  Monsieur Ferrière sadly shook his narrow head. ‘Poor little one!’ he murmured. ‘I am so distressed for her; but she is still quite young. She will live and learn that we older ones are right.’

  Having kissed Madame Lavallière’s hand and thanked her for receiving him, he let himself out.

  In her bedroom, with her face buried in the pillows, Madeleine lay sobbing out her heart. To her the ‘Mayor of Batignolles’ attitude seemed utterly incredible; yet she knew that he not only represented official France, but also a great section of French opinion. Her mother, although she had said little, had obviously sided with him. Then there was Pierre. He too, although a young man, so obviously preferred surrender at any price to the risk of death, mutilation, or even discomfort. Far away across the English Channel Churchill was still roaring defiance at the common enemy of all mankind; but what could he and the British do now that France had deserted them? Were all Frenchmen cowards that they should have refused his appeal to fight on? No, that was impossible; there were Frenchmen who would still risk everything for the true honour of France. Georges would have done so had he lived. He had told her that he had secret orders to stay in Paris and operate from underground against the enemy, whatever might happen, until a full and proper peace was signed. There must be others like him. She herself would never, never submit to the Germans and treat them as friends. As long as she lived she would look upon them as the brutal beasts they were and hate them from the very bottom of her heart. Yet where could she find those who felt the same? She felt so desperately alone.

  It was just then that the door-bell pealed. Checking her sobs with an effort she quickly attended to her face and went to answer it. On the threshold there stood a middle-aged doctor, under whom she had worked on various occasions and who was a visiting surgeon at the Hôpital St. Pierre.

  ‘I hope you’ll forgive my calling at such a late hour,’ he said, ‘but I’ve come to see you about your Russian friend.’

  For a moment she stood with her mouth open. In the terrible stress of the events of the last few days all thought of Kuporovitch had passed from her mind, and she now remembered her promise to Gregory to see that his friend received a decent burial.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I ought to have called at the hospital long before this to make arrangements for the funeral. I suppose you’re anxious to have him removed from the morgue. When did he die?’

  The doctor smiled. ‘He didn’t die. Why, I can’t think. His skull must be made of steel to have survived the injuries that he received; but he lived through the night after you brought him in, and the following day, as his heart seemed perfectly sound, we decided to try a trepanning operation. I’m happy to say that it’s proved extremely successful.’

  ‘But how marvellous!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m so glad! I must come round to the hospital tomorrow morning to see him.’

  The doctor hesitated. ‘Well, as a matter of fact, Mademoiselle, that’s just the point I came to see you about. It will be a long time before he’s completely recovered, but he seems to have the constitution of an ox, so he’s already off the danger list, and the Germans have command
eered practically every bed we’ve got for their wounded. You know how impossible it is to shift them once they’ve made up their minds about a thing, and they wouldn’t give us any time at all. We only heard late this afternoon, and the orders were imperative that we should have one hundred and fifty beds cleared before midnight, whoever we threw out. We’ve been making frantic arrangements to remove the patients all the evening, and, of course, most of them can be transferred to their own homes; but this Russian has no home, and all the other hospitals in Paris are in the same overcrowded state as ourselves. I hope I’m not wrong, but I gathered that you were more or less responsible for him, so the fact of the matter is that I’ve brought him along to you. He’s in an ambulance downstairs.’

  Madeleine was so surprised that she hardly knew what to say. Her mother’s apartment was a very small one, but there was the little spare-room.

  ‘You see, if you can possibly take him in,’ the doctor hurried on, ‘it would be a great blessing, because as a professional nurse you would be able to look after him; but quite frankly, if you can’t I’m at my wits’ end to know what to do with the poor fellow.’

  ‘But of course I’ll have him here,’ Madeleine said at once. In such circumstances it would not have occurred to her to refuse to accept a stranger, at least for a few days until some other arrangements could be made, and Kuporovitch was already something more than a mere acquaintance from the very fact that she had been with him when he had met with his frightful accident.

  While the doctor left her to go downstairs she hurried into the little spare-room and quickly prepared the bed. A few moments later the ambulance men brought Kuporovitch in on a stretcher. White bandages now covered the whole of the upper part of his head, and his black eyebrows stood out more than ever in startling contrast to his pale face. He was unconscious, and so a dead weight, but the orderlies helped her to get him into bed. The doctor felt the Russian’s pulse, declared himself satisfied, gave Madeleine certain instructions and, promising to look in the following morning, wished her good-night.