by Sarah Rayne
‘They were kind to me afterwards – they gave me food and blankets and tonight I’m back in the room with the other women. That’s friendly. When will they let me go home, I wonder?’
‘They didn’t let her go home, of course,’ said Mikhail, early the next morning, as he and Theo ate breakfast in the cottage’s kitchen. It felt warm and safe and there was the good scent of fresh coffee, but Theo could feel the ghosts all round them. ‘What they did was to keep holding out the promise of release. It never came.’
The envelope with the diaries lay on the table between them. Theo put his hand on them. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever forget what’s in those pages.’
‘I never have,’ said Innes. He was buttering toast and his tone was matter-of-fact, but his eyes were deep and dark. ‘I never forgot how she wrote that she had done it for me – how she believed it would make sure I was safe from the Securitate.’
‘How did she finally get out?’ said Theo.
‘I got her out. I went into Jilava with a friend and got her out in secrecy.’
‘A friend?’ Theo was aware of a sudden bump of anticipation, and he was not really surprised when Innes said, ‘It was someone I’d known all my life – someone I knew I could trust. His name was Matthew Valk.’
Matthew. The name brushed against Theo’s mind with friendly familiarity.
‘It was one of those wild plans that oughtn’t to have succeeded,’ said Innes. ‘It was like something out of adventure fiction, like those nineteenth-century heroes locked away in ancient fortresses, outwitting their captors.’
‘If you’ve got time, I’d like to hear the final scene,’ said Theo.
‘Surgery isn’t until ten,’ said Innes, glancing at the clock. ‘You’ve got to get back to Fenn to organize the locksmith though, remember.’
‘I’ll phone him in a minute,’ said Theo.
Innes refilled the cups.
‘We decided that two people would go into Jilava openly, as semi-official visitors. The October Group created a society called the United Communist Association as cover for us. They even printed several leaflets outlining the apparent aims of the association: a mixture of Ceauşescu’s own doctrines, with a sprinkling of hard-edged Leninism. It was said to be affiliated to the Party’s Humanist Prison Committee and the Politburo’s Law Commission. Both were fictional, but they sounded sufficiently official, and everything was deliberately hydra-headed to make checking difficult. Once inside – well, two people would go in and two people would come out. Only they wouldn’t be the same two.’
‘A substitution inside the prison,’ said Theo.
‘Yes. I was going to remain behind – Mara would go out wearing my long coat, boots and a hat pulled down to hide her face. Once they’d gone I thought I could bluff my way out, or maybe drug the guards. I’d been taking extra chemistry and biology lessons, and I concocted a sleeping draught which I would smuggle in with me.’ He smiled. ‘I can’t believe how naive I was,’ he said. ‘I still can’t believe that all of us didn’t end up being put up against a wall and shot. But the plan wasn’t as harebrained as it sounds. The October Group found out the layout of the prison, the number of the guards, even some of their names, changes of shifts, patterns of the day, where prisoners were at certain hours. And somehow we got inside the gaol,’ he said.
‘And you got Mara out.’
‘Yes. But what I didn’t know,’ said Innes, ‘was that Matthew had an agenda of his own.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Romania, early 1980s
The journey to Jilava was exhausting and maddening. The roads were hot and dusty, and the trains, when they turned up, were dirty and uncomfortable. Matthew was quite surprised to find that Jilava itself was nicer than he had expected.
‘I hadn’t realized it was a university town,’ he said as they walked through it. ‘It’s sort of tucked between mountains and pine forests. I wonder what it would be like to live and study here.’
‘It’s five o’clock,’ said Mikhail. ‘We’d better not waste any time.’ They asked someone for directions to the prison and set off. Matthew had no idea what it would look like, but as they started out, his painter’s mind was already peopling the road leading to it with greedy-featured goblins and long-fingered hags, and wrapping it in perpetual night. As for the prison itself, it would be a misshapen lump of brick and stone like a truncated body, or a sprawling nightmare mansion like the Black House. The images poured into his mind, but in fact the road they took was perfectly ordinary and, although the prison, when it came into view, was unmistakably an old fortress, it did not seem too formidable. But as Matthew stared at it, he saw how the stones around the small, mean windows had crumbled, as if the despair and pain within had seeped out and dripped over the sills, corroding the fabric. The fortress’s edges blurred with the iron sky so that it was impossible to know where the walls ended and the sky began.
‘I hadn’t expected it to be so ordinary,’ said Mikhail. ‘Are we ready?’
‘No, but let’s do it anyway.’
Ahead of them was a big stone courtyard. Prisoners would be brought through this courtyard, knowing the bleak future ahead of them, thought Matthew. Did they struggle, those poor creatures, or did they go defiantly, pretending not to care about what might be ahead? Had Mara done that? Had his own father? Andrei’s image, never far from his thoughts, rose up vividly.
‘I expected to be challenged by guards or someone by this time,’ said Mikhail softly. ‘I wonder if that’s because everyone’s so securely locked away they aren’t worried by people marching up to the door and asking to come in?’
‘Perhaps they aren’t very efficient.’
‘Matthew, no one in this regime dares to be inefficient.’
There was a massive door at the centre of the building, with a large old-fashioned bell rope that jangled discordantly when Matthew pulled it. His heart raced and sweat slid between his shoulder blades, but the guard who opened the door regarded them with indifference. Matthew, keeping to the script they and the October Group had written, was able to say firmly, ‘We are from the United Communist Association. UCA.’
‘Who?’
‘Our visit was arranged by our headquarters.’ Matthew’s heart beat fast with nerves. ‘Details were sent to you. We’re to see the prisoner held here for the death of Annaleise Simonescu.’
The man practically sprang to attention. ‘I’ll need to get clearance,’ he said.
‘I should hope you would,’ said Matthew, and they went inside.
It was like stepping into a deep dark cavern. For a moment Matthew felt as if he was drowning in pain, despair and bitterness.
‘I suppose you’re expected by someone?’ demanded the guard, reaching for a telephone.
‘A man called Groze,’ said Matthew, hoping he sounded sufficiently imperious. Groze was the name they had been given by the October Group. He was apparently responsible for transferring prisoners between gaols, which meant he was reasonably high up in the pecking order but not likely to know much about commissions or recognize that UCA was false.
The guard spoke into the phone, then said, ‘Groze says he’s never heard of UCA and he doesn’t know anything about an appointment, but he’ll give you ten minutes.’
Groze greeted them warily, and apologized for not being aware of their visit.
‘We will be having something to say about that in the appropriate quarters,’ said Matthew. ‘What we need now is to see the prisoner Mara Ionescu.’
‘Particularly why?’
‘I don’t know why they picked that one,’ said Matthew. ‘They do this from time to time – random auditing, it’s called. But in view of Ionescu’s history – that question mark over her involvement with Simonescu’s death – the Party needs to know she’s being held securely and in accordance with their rulings.’
Groze shrugged, and got up from the desk. ‘I’ll get someone to take you,’ he said. ‘I don’t have much to do with the prisoners as indi
viduals, in fact I don’t know why your appointment was made with me in the first place.’
‘That, too, will be looked into,’ said Matthew.
Mara was brought to a small, bare room – Matthew thought it was some kind of interview room. She was ragged and thin and she looked at them with such wary suspicion, clearly not immediately recognizing them, that Matthew felt a deep spiking pain of compassion. And then Mikhail said softly, ‘Hello Mara,’ and recognition flared in the distrusting eyes. Matthew expected her to fly into Mikhail’s arms, but she did not; she looked nervously towards the door. She thinks it’s some kind of test, he thought. She thinks people might be watching us. He realized with a shock that this was likely.
Mikhail must have realized it as well and although he must have been deeply hurt at her lack of emotion, he said, ‘Mara, there’s a plan. Just do everything we tell you and don’t question anything because we haven’t got much time.’
‘All right.’
It was as Mikhail started unwinding the thick scarf half-hiding his face, that Matthew said, ‘No. Mara’s changing clothes with me.’ As Mikhail turned to stare at him, he said, ‘There’s no time to argue. You’re both going out, and I’m staying here.’ He stripped off the long coat he wore and unwound his own scarf. ‘Mara, put this on – it’ll be a bit too big, but that doesn’t matter. Wind the scarf round so it covers as much of your face as possible. When the guard or Groze comes back, leave the talking to Mikhail.’
‘Matthew, what are you doing? This isn’t the plan—’
‘There’s a new plan,’ said Matthew, thankful that Mara was doing as asked. ‘It’s a plan to get another prisoner out.’
Mikhail stared at him. ‘Your father,’ he said. ‘You think he might be here. You’re going to search for him.’
‘Yes,’ said Matthew. ‘I know it’s a gamble, but it’s too good an opportunity to miss. If he’s here I’ve got to get him out. So don’t let’s waste any more time arguing. Have you got that sleeping stuff you were going to bring?’
‘Yes, but…’ Mikhail gave an impatient shrug and handed over a small cone of paper. ‘If you use it, only use half on one man – the whole dose could be fatal.’
‘I wouldn’t lose any sleep if I killed the lot of them,’ said Matthew, pocketing it. ‘Mara, I need to know where the men are kept. Can you help with that?’
For a moment he thought she did not understand, then she said, ‘I don’t know. There are so many rooms. But there’re a couple of big workshops – people are taken there in shifts.’
‘If I could find that,’ said Matthew, ‘I might be able to merge with the men. Do the guards keep an exact count?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But they’d be expecting people to try to get out, not try to get in,’ said Mikhail. ‘Matthew, are you sure about doing this?’
‘Yes.’
‘All right. I understand.’
‘Good. And for the moment we stay with the original plan.’ Matthew looked at them, then put his arms first round Mikhail then round Mara. ‘Please be safe,’ he said.
‘You too.’
Matthew went to stand behind the door, and they waited for the guard to open it, calling that the ten minutes were up. When he did so, Mikhail said, ‘Thank you, we’re coming now.’ He stepped into the doorway. ‘You’ll take us back to the main doors, I expect,’ he said to the man. ‘It’s a real warren down here, isn’t it?’
‘I need to get the prisoner back first,’ said the guard.
‘She’s already back,’ said Mikhail, sounding surprised. ‘Groze came in and took her back himself.’
‘Groze never does things like that.’ He sounded suspicious, and Mikhail shrugged. ‘See for yourself,’ he said, pushing the door of the room open.
The guard pulled the door sharply back and, seeing Matthew half-concealed behind it, gave a triumphant cry. But before he could raise the alarm, Matthew sprang at him, delivering a hefty punch to the guard’s jaw that sent him staggering backwards. He went after him, prepared to give him a second blow, but the man had banged his head on the stone floor and slumped into unconsciousness.
‘He’s out cold,’ said Mikhail, bending over to feel for a pulse, ‘but breathing.’
‘Give me his hat,’ said Matthew, already unbuttoning the guard’s jacket, and dragging it off.
‘Will it fit you?’ asked Mikhail.
‘I don’t know. I’m making this up as I go along.’
‘I don’t think you are.’
‘I had two or three possible courses of action,’ said Matthew, putting on the jacket and hat. ‘Has he got any keys? Oh thank God, yes, he has.’ He unhooked the heavy bunch of keys clipped to the man’s belt, and looped it onto his own. ‘Can we get him into that cupboard?’ he said. ‘The longer it is before he’s found, the better.’
It was difficult because the cupboard was a small stationery store, but in the end they managed it, and closed the door firmly.
‘Remember to keep the scarf over your face, Mara,’ said Matthew. ‘Let Mikhail do the talking, if there is any. This is the risky part.’ He tilted the guard’s hat so it shaded his face and led them out into the passageway. ‘If we meet any guards, I’m escorting you two visitors to the door,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to trust that there’s a lot of guards and they don’t all know one another.’
‘And that we can find the way out,’ said Mikhail grimly.
Nervous tension hold Matthew’s entire body in a vice as they went along. He expected to be challenged at any minute. In his head he began to play a grim form of an old childhood game. If we get to the next turn in the passage it’ll be all right. And then, when they did get to the turn, he thought, if we can reach that stairway, we won’t be caught…
Ahead were the narrow windows of the guard room. ‘This is where we’d better part. Stay safe,’ he said again, and was gone, swallowed up by the dark corridors.
The present
‘And so Matthew stayed behind in Jilava,’ said Theo.
‘Yes,’ said Innes. ‘And Mara and I came to England. When we got out of Jilava, we simply got on a tram to Resita, where we met Sister Teresa. She brought Mara here. She thought it was sufficiently far away and that the English convent could provide the peace and safety Mara needed. The October Group helped with the paperwork side of things – I didn’t ask about that, I was just grateful it was possible. But I think by then they had got a number of people out of the prisons, or just out of the country. People wanted by the Securitate for what they called crimes against the State – innocent people mostly. I think Sister Teresa and some of the nuns might have helped, although they never said. The October Group had built up a network of—’
‘Forgers?’
‘Well, people who could produce passports and visas that were acceptable,’ said Innes. ‘It was still only the early 1980s, and the computer chip for passports and so on was still in the future. I think this country was starting to wake up to what was happening in Romania, and England’s always been prepared to help people escaping harsh dictators. By then I knew I wanted to study medicine and I was able to get into Queens Medical Centre at Nottingham, so I stayed. Later I got British citizenship. I don’t forget my own country, but I’m actually quite proud of being a British citizen,’ he said.
‘You sound sufficiently deprecatory to actually be British,’ said Theo.
‘Good. And now,’ he said, ‘what about your explanations?’
Theo thought for a moment, then said, ‘Can you come round to Fenn later? I should have sorted out the new locks by this evening. And…’ He paused, frowning. ‘Michael, I won’t stir anything up at St Luke’s – not yet anyway, and certainly not without talking to you again, but I’d like to ask one of the sisters about those twelve children who were brought here. It’s in the centenary book, so it’s all in the open. I can say I’m interested for a possible plot.’ And that’s more true than you know, he thought. ‘There’s the photo of Charmery, too – I can say I�
��m curious.’
‘That sounds all right. You don’t intend to talk to Mara, do you?’
‘No,’ said Theo. ‘I was thinking of Sister Catherine. I’ll say I don’t want it mentioned to anyone because it’s a project that might not come to anything.’
‘Sounds reasonable. The children would be well before her time – early 1970s – but she might be able to find something out. And,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘Sister Catherine is absolutely trustworthy.’
The locksmith came out to Fenn within half an hour of Theo phoning. ‘Not often we get break-ins around here,’ he said. ‘Still, I daresay this house is a bit of a magnet for one or two oddballs.’
If you only knew, thought Theo, but he said, yes, that seemed to be the problem, and he was grateful the locks could be changed again so quickly.
‘Priority job,’ said the locksmith. ‘There you go, squire. Snug as the Bank of England now, not that that’s saying much these days.’
He accepted the cheque Theo wrote, handed over three sets of new keys, and went off, whistling cheerfully, after which Theo called Sergeant Leigh.
‘I’m just checking in to let you know I’ve had the locks changed and I’ve survived the night, and I’m hoping you’ve traced the missing key.’
‘We’re having a word with the shops this morning,’ said Leigh, ‘and we’re going along to St Luke’s later.’
‘Sergeant, when you were investigating Charmery’s death, did you find any record of her travelling to Romania?’
‘Not as far as I remember. When would it have been?’
‘No idea.’
‘I can get it checked if you think there’s any point,’ said Leigh. ‘We did look at where she’d been for the last couple of years – Paris and Italy as I recall – but there didn’t seem any need to go back further.’
