No Regrets: A Novel of Love and Lies in World War II England (The Thornton Trilogy Book 1)

by Payne, Mary Christian

  “What are you going to do to me?” Elise repeated.

  “Come,” said another of the men – a blonde, heavyset swine. “Follow me,” he demanded, making his way toward the stairway.

  “No. I’ll not willingly go up those stairs with you,” she answered firmly. Were they only trying to frighten her? Were they lying about her having broken the law?

  “Then we’ll take care of you here,” shouted the third man, who was clearly, very, drunk.

  He threw Elise onto the floor, and then, one by one, the disgusting creatures had their way with her. She’d never been touched by a man before, and what they did was savagery. First one, and then another ravaged her body, while two stood, watching and cheering. She was screaming and sobbing, but they had no empathy. On and on it went, until Elise wished she were dead. She willed her mind to a different place, hovering outside of her body, as if the assault were happening to somebody else. Finally, the attack ended. They buttoned their uniform pants and left. The last one out of the door kicked her in the ribs. She’d heard their names – Dieter, Wolfgang, and Pieter. She even knew which was which, if the time ever came to identify them. But what good could that do? They wouldn’t be punished.

  She lay on the floor, bleeding and weeping. It was inconceivable that such a thing had happened. Just an hour before she’d been sipping coffee with a kind Englishman, and now she’d been mauled by disgusting, filthy Nazis. She’d never feel clean again. Slowly, she stood. Her legs were shaking. She felt faint. All that mattered was being able to soak in a tub - to wash away the remnants of her attackers. She climbed the staircase, holding tightly to the banister, pulling herself from step to step. At last, she reached the top, unsteadily making her way to the toilet. She stripped off her clothing, mostly in tatters, and threw everything into the waste. When the bath was ready, Elise stepped into the tub, letting herself sink into the warm water. She was in shock and was terribly frightened. If she remained in the house, the three monsters might return. She had to leave. But where could she go? Scrubbing herself until nearly raw, Elise formulated a plan. When the water began to cool, she stood, dried herself and left the bath, walking in the direction of her brother’s room.

  Sorting through his clothing, she found everything she needed - one of his caps, a pair of over-all’s he’d outgrown, a shirt and a jacket. Her own riding boots would suffice. Elise also packed a small bag – just enough for a few changes of clothing after she arrived in England. Having gathered all of the items, she took them to her own room and dressed. Pinning her hair into a knot, she tucked it beneath Josef’s beret. When everything was complete, she looked into the mirror. If one didn’t look too closely, she could pass for a male refugee. Darkness had fallen, and that was an advantage. If she could make it to the beaches, Elise was certain she’d be able to board one of the watercraft plucking people from the sand and water. It didn’t matter if it was discovered that she was a woman once on British soil. Her camouflage was only necessary to prevent being accosted while in France. She moved outside to the yard and removed the dirt covering a hole. Josef had dug it, near the small stable. He’d hidden money and valuables there. Elise removed everything, and put it into a bag. Glancing toward the road, she saw that it was less crowded than it had been earlier. There were still many people, but the throng had thinned quite a bit. Then, she thought of her brother. What if he returned and found her missing? Shouldn’t she tell someone her plan? Thinking for a moment, she ran to the farm adjacent to her own. An elderly lady lived there with her husband. Knocking on the door, she waited impatiently for a response. Brigitte, the owner of the farm, opened the door. When she saw Elise, dressed as she was, her hand flew to her heart, and she looked astonished.

  “What in the world....”

  “I know I look strange, Brigitte. I haven’t time to explain. Something dreadful has happened. I’m going to try to get aboard one of the ships in the Channel and escape to England. I have to get away from here. I only wanted to let you know. If my brother should return, he won’t know what’s become of me. Please tell him where I’ve gone. “

  “What – what’s happened? Why are you leaving in such a rush?” Brigitte asked.

  “Three German beasts crashed through my doorway. Need I say more? I was assaulted. It was the worst experience of my life. I have to leave. What if they come back? They may even tell their mates that a young woman is living alone at the farmhouse. I know it’s supposed to be strictly forbidden for German soldiers to assault French women – in fact, the penalty is hanging – but what woman in her right mind would take the chance of reporting such swine to the police? I don’t trust the authorities. I’d be terrified. And, of course, the monsters would deny everything anyway.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. I understand. Oh, God help us. What next? You poor girl. Is there nothing I can do to help you?”

  “No. Nothing. Just watch for my brother. Oh, and please take my horse, Sasha. She’s in the stable. You can take anything you want from the house, too. Now, I have to go. Pray I can board one of the vessels rescuing soldiers and refugees.”

  “Elise. When you reach England, go to Brighton. It isn’t far from Dover. I have a dear friend who operates a boarding house there. Her name is Violette Beaulieu. I haven’t seen her for years, but we knew each other in Paris, long ago. Give her my name. She’ll help you. Can you remember that?”

  “I can remember, yes. Violette Beaulieu. But where will I find her?”

  “The name of her establishment is Maison de Violette. It’s on the beach. God bless you, my dear Elise. You’ll be in our prayers.”

  Brigitte hugged her. Elise turned and ran toward the Dunkirk beaches.

  ***

  She didn’t try to hide that she was a young lady. Although dressed in her brother’s clothing, Elise knew her voice would give her away. But, she didn’t advertise it either. She didn’t expect to speak often, and her appearance blended with the multitude of others standing on the beaches, or wading into the water. Miraculously, it was only a short while before she was picked up by a large fishing trawler. Rescued people were packed in like sardines. There were about fifty others, but she found a corner and curled up, keeping to herself. Guns were being fired from Luftwaffe planes circling above, but because it was dark outside, there were less than there’d been earlier. What was, in reality, a rather short crossing, seemed to take forever.

  Finally the vessel docked at Dover, and she set foot on English soil. She was so overcome with relief that tears fell from her eyes. Thank God she could speak English. That would make it much easier to navigate. People were being guided to trains. She boarded one intended for Brighton Beach, which she learned was less than 100 miles. It was very dark outside, as she climbed up the steps and entered the carriage. She pondered what to do about changing her clothing. Arriving at the boarding house dressed in such an odd way would look very strange. The answer was obvious. She stood, grasping her small valise, and made her way to the ladies’ toilet. As the train rocked to and fro, she quickly took a frock from her bag. She stripped off her brother’s clothing. Next came the boots, which would have to be abandoned, since there was no place to stow them. She had packed two pair of shoes -white sandals and black, patent slippers. The sandals would be fine with the floral print of the sleeveless chemise. Elise knew Brighton was a beach town, so the clothing would blend in perfectly. Looking in the tiny mirror, she saw that her hair was a snarled mess. There was a small brush in her bag, and she ran it through the tanged curls. They were damp from the sea breeze. Brushing the locks up into a knot, she secured them with a clip. She looked a bit more presentable. She stuffed the male clothing into the waste bin and set the boots under the sink. Perhaps someone would find them and put them to good use. Returning to her seat, Elise settled in, pretending to read a periodical someone had left behind. She was much too anxious to concentrate upon anything, except arriving at her destination.

  When the conductor called out, “Brighton, next stop,” she gather
ed her bag and walked to the front of the car. She waited until it came to a complete stop, and then exited the train. She felt confused about which way to go. Looking right and left, Elise tried to gauge if there was one area that looked more populated than another. There were lights on both sides. A porter on the station platform asked if he could be of assistance.

  “Yes, please. Can you tell me where Maison de Violette’s is located?”

  “Maison de Violette’s? Are you certain that’s where you want to go?” he asked.

  “Oui. Yes. I’ve come from France to stay there.”

  “You look like such a nice girl,” he replied.

  “Of course I’m a nice girl. Please, just tell me where I can find Madame Violette’s.”

  “All right,” he answered, rather sullenly. “Go to the walkway to the right.” He pointed in that direction. “Keep walking until you come to the buildings. Go past the old chain pier. The house is painted lavender. There’s a sign. I’d say it’s ten or twelve houses down the beach.”

  “Thank you so much. You’ve been a great help.”

  He nodded his head and abruptly turned away. His manner surprised Elise. Were all of the people in Brighton so unfriendly? Finding the walkway, she began her trek. Counting the buildings, while moving along, a pretty, lavender house came into view. It was just as the man had described. Three stories, with lights in most of the windows, vines climbed the sides. Elise was almost certain they were morning glories. “What an enchanting place,” she thought to herself. There was a white picket fence surrounding the front, with a lovely arbor over the gate. Unlatching the gate, she approached the doorway. Music and laughter could be heard. The boarders must have been having a party. Rapping gently, Elise waited. It wasn’t long before the door was opened by a platinum-haired, sophisticated-looking woman.

  “Are you by chance Violette Beaulieu?” Elise asked.

  “Yes. Who, may I ask, are you?”

  “My name is Elise Lisak. I’ve come from France. My neighbour, Brigitte Meursault, told me where to find you. She said you would give me a room and protection.”

  “Ah, my old friend Brigitte. I haven’t heard from her in a long while. We knew each other as innocent girls in Paris. Do come inside. Forgive the loud noise. Sometimes my house becomes a bit unruly.”

  Elise followed the woman inside. She was dressed in deep lilac and wore a necklace of large amethysts, with matching drop earrings. Elise could see, in the light, that Madame Violette was quite lovely. The room adjacent to the entry was filled to over-flowing with young men and lovely, youthful ladies. They were all dressed in elaborate evening wear. A tune was playing on the Victrola, and couples were dancing very close to one another. It was the strangest boarding house Elise had ever seen. Violette took her to a small room, resembling an office, although it was decorated with purple velvet chairs and wallpaper with violets scattered upon it. She motioned for Elise to sit in one of the gilt-edged chairs.

  “So. Brigitte suggested that you come to me? You’re certainly a stunning creature. I’m sure you have the potential to increase my profits considerably. Have you any experience?” she asked.

  “Experience? Living in a boarding house? No Madam. I have escaped from France because of the Germans. I had my own home, shared with my brother. I was forced to leave. I was - I was assaulted by a group of Nazi soldiers – right in my own home. I was frightened they might return. I went to the beaches at Dunkirk and joined the refugees. Before I left, I spoke with my neighbour, Brigitte. She told me she knew you and that you had a house in Brighton.”

  “She said nothing else?”

  “Just that she was certain you would offer me refuge.”

  “My dear young lady, I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood. My home is not a boarding house. I do, however, run a business here. It’s for the entertainment of gentlemen. Do you understand what I mean?”

  Elise’s face turned scarlet. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place. No wonder the porter at the railway station had looked at her suspiciously. No wonder the people whom she thought were boarders were dancing so closely and dressed in such a risqué manner. The house was a brothel.

  “Oh, Madame Violette. I am so sorry. I wasn’t told the full story. Did Brigitte know of your - your business?”

  “Perhaps not. I may not have made that perfectly clear. I hope you aren’t too shocked. I run a very upscale establishment. You’ll not see any riff-raff here. My employees are of the highest caliber. I don’t suppose you wish to join my working girls?”

  “Oh, no, no. I apologize. I don’t mean to insult you. What you choose to do is your own private concern. But I could never be - well - I simply couldn’t.”

  “I understand perfectly. You look very young and inexperienced. Quite shy, in fact. I’m terribly sorry you endured such an ordeal with the soldiers. I wouldn’t welcome such vile pigs to my establishment. Of course you felt the need to run. I’m a kind woman and will be happy to help you. I have extra space. You’re welcome to a room here, and I don’t need your money. Stay as long as you like. I’ll explain to the other ladies. You’ll find they’re not such a bad lot. Some have experienced tragedies similar to yours. If you don’t want to be bothered, I’ll make it clear that no one should annoy you.”

  “I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. I’m not certain I’d be welcomed by your other - um - guests.”

  “Elise, they’re not guests. They work here. But they aren’t monsters. They have a need to earn an income, and they do very well here. It isn’t easy for a woman to make a decent wage in our society.”

  “I understand. I’m grateful for your offer of help. I’d like to accept it, at least for a short while, until I can sort myself out. You’re being very generous to me. I don’t know where else I would go. I do have money to pay for my room and board.”

  “That isn’t necessary. I’m a French woman, too, although I’ve been an English citizen for years. I’m patriotic. I’d like to do something to lend support during this dreadful war.”

  “Then I do accept your offer. Thank you. I’ll try not to be a bother. Can you tell me the routine of the house, so I’m aware of how to behave?”

  “Certainly. Breakfast is quite late. The girls generally don’t wake early, due to entertaining until the wee hours. The dining room table is set from nine to eleven o’clock; luncheon is served, buffet style, from noon until two; we dine at six o’clock in the evening. Festivities generally begin later. We welcome visitors any time after eight o’clock at night. Tea is also served at three o’clock in the afternoon. I’ll show you the layout when I take you to your sleeping room. Of course, you’re free to come and go as you please. I expect that you not to speak about the sort of business I operate. It’s well-known in town, and the authorities even avail themselves of my services, but it’s not spoken about. I simply say that I operate a gentleman’s club, where men can find a place to smoke cigars, play poker, drink fine whiskey and dance with lovely women.”

  “I understand,” Elise gulped. “I would never say anything to harm your business.”

  Violette smiled. “It would be difficult to harm my business, Mon Cherie. My house is considered one of the finest in all southeast England. But I appreciate your consideration. Have you any other questions?”

  “I can think of nothing at the moment. Again, thank you. If you could show me to my room, I’d appreciate it. I’m very tired. It’s been a long, arduous day.”

  “Of course. Come with me,” Violette answered, rising from her chair. Elise followed, feeling a bit strange as she passed the drawing room again. There were fewer couples than before. She and Madame Violette climbed the staircase and walked down a long hallway. The house was quite large. Violette led her to an empty room at the very end, decorated in the same lavender as the house’s exterior. The cover on the bed was a duplicate of the wallpaper in Violette’s office. Draperies matched. A bath was connected to the room, which pleased Elise greatly. She wouldn’t have to worry about sha
ring with one or more of the working ladies. She smiled and turned to her hostess.

  “This is lovely. I feel very fortunate. I’ll be most comfortable here. You’re so kind.”

  “I’m glad you like it. It’s actually my best room. I keep it for special guests. I thought you would prefer your own loo, as they say in England.”

  “Loo?”

  “Yes. You need to learn their little colloquialisms. Loo is an oft-used word for toilet.”

  “Ah – I’ll remember that. Yes, I do like having my own, private loo,” Elise smiled.

  “Right then. Have a good rest. I promise no one will disturb you. I’ll explain the situation to my girls. Don‘t be frightened. They’ll be kind to you.”

  With that, Violette turned and left the room. Elise took a deep breath and folded back the bed covers. In a moment she’d run a bath and then collapse under the soft, down-filled comforter. She’d worry about everything else in the morning.

  CHAPTER THREE

  August 1940

  Elise had been living at Maison de Violette three months when she realized she was pregnant. At first she attributed the lack of her monthly curse to the trauma of the assault, followed by the stress of relocation to England. However, other symptoms started to pop up. She’d come to view Violette as a mother figure – caring, concerned and understanding of Elise’s deep-seated pain. So, she was the obvious person to talk with about pregnancy fears.

  After teatime she tapped gently on Violette’s office door. She was immediately told to enter. Violette was dressed in a variation of her usual colour – a purple gown with soft lace ruffles at the neckline. Elise wore a simple, yellow linen frock, with long sleeves and a loose waistline. She had replenished her wardrobe with a shopping trip, shortly after her arrival in Brighton. Thank goodness, the frocks she’d purchased were mostly chemise-style. There wasn’t a hint of pregnancy, yet, but if her fears were realized, she would need clothing that wasn’t form-fitting. After she sat down in Violette’s office, she was hesitant about how to broach the subject. However, from the moment Violette had heard about the attack, she’d been worried about just such an outcome. If Elise hadn’t found the words, Violette would have.