“So he’s a hired man, a torpedo, so to speak?”
“Sounds like it. Though if he knows about Moilien’s plans with the bombs, he must also have his own beef with the war or Britain. Maybe he’s a German sympathizer.”
“One would think so, but some men simply have few scruples, and even less of a conscience,” Alec countered almost wearily.
“There are not just men like that,” I corrected him, turning to stare out at the sun-dappled countryside.
If not for the sobering nature of our discussion and the seriousness of our quest, it would have seemed the perfect summer day. When I closed my eyes, just for a second, I could almost believe we were driving into the Sussex countryside for a picnic. But then Alec wouldn’t be with us, and Sidney’s Pierce-Arrow would still be all apiece.
I sighed one last breath of regret and then refocused on the problem at hand. Namely, finding Emilie.
* * *
The city of Tourcoing was situated along the Franco-Belgian border to the northeast of Lille, beyond Roubaix. Consequently, it had not suffered as greatly from the repeated bombings and shellings as the other two cities had. However, the occupation of the Germans had been just as harsh, and Tourcoing’s main form of industry crippled. The entire area had been a renowned wool manufacturing center with thousands of looms and specialized equipment, all of which had been seized and carted away into Germany or smashed and burned.
I directed Alec to drive toward The Grand Place where the Church of St. Christopher still towered overhead, having somewhat miraculously survived the war with little damage except to its famous bells, which the Germans confiscated to melt down for bullets. It was a market day, so the square bustled with activity, perhaps more so given the reduced circumstances that continued in this area. I stood along the northern end in front of three small shops next to the Hotel Cygne, struggling to recall which shop I had called in to during my last visit to the city in order to make contact with Madame de l’Epine. The proprietors had definitely changed.
I swiveled to stare over the stalls of vendors across the square. Or else I’d gotten myself turned around. My gaze snagged on the church’s tall steeple. No, this was the right place. I was sure of it.
Then I felt something brush up against my side and I instantly reached to secure my handbag. A lean-cheeked boy of about eight grinned impishly at me several steps away.
“S’il vous plaît, Madame Gabrielle. Par ici.”
He turned to scamper onward before I could do much more than blink. I hurried to follow, trusting Sidney and Alec would either catch us up or I would find them again later. In any case, I could spare them little attention as the boy darted into a group of lads approximately his own age before they all scattered in different directions. I kept my gaze glued to the faded blue of his cap, watching it bob along through the crowd in front of me.
I wasn’t entirely surprised Emilie had borrowed this method from Madame de l’Epine to lead me to her. And I did believe it was her given the fact that the boy had used my code name. During the short few days I had stayed in Tourcoing on a time-sensitive assignment during the war, Madame de l’Epine had utilized just such a method to circumvent the heightened security the city was blanketed under given its location so close to both the front and the border with Belgium. The Germans’ heavy guns had been so close to the city, I could remember the ground fairly quaking from the noise of their nightly bombardment of the Allies’ lines.
The lad was devilishly quick, and I struggled to keep up with him as we meandered through the streets of the city. We passed the impressive edifice of the Hôtel de Ville with its French Renaissance architecture and dome, but after that I soon lost my bearings. Several times I feared I’d lost him around a corner or in the crowd of a busy street, only to see his mischievous grin flash over his shoulder, clearly enjoying this game.
At what point we doubled back to approach the cathedral adjacent to The Grand Place, I don’t know, but the Gothic-style building of brick and stone loomed large at the end of the narrow alley the little imp darted into. Several feet into the shadowed passage, I stumbled to a stop, realizing he was no longer in front of me. I knew he’d scampered in here, but still I glanced behind me, wondering if I’d been fooled.
Sidney and Alec stood behind me, both having deduced the reason for my actions, for neither demanded explanations.
“Where did he go?” Sidney asked, expressing the same bafflement I felt.
“I don’t know,” I replied, advancing deeper into the alley. “He must be here somewhere.”
As if in answer to my statement, a door to the left opened and a woman peered through. “Madame,” she whispered, gesturing to me to come inside.
Her eyes widened at the sight of two men behind me, but I assured her they were with me. She nodded hesitantly but did not object.
She led us up a steep flight of stairs and then down a narrow hall to another. At the top of these, she paused before a door, rapping once sharply.
“Entrez,” a voice called from inside and I hastened forward without any urging, for I already recognized that alto voice.
There, before the single window which looked out over the alley, stood Emilie. Or rather Rose Moreau, her real name, as I probably should begin calling her.
She glanced away from the window as I advanced into the room, her face creasing into a weary smile. “Ah, at last you have found me.”
CHAPTER 27
I moved forward into the light of the window, grasping her forearms as I leaned forward to buss her on both cheeks. She appeared much as I remembered her, though there was now more gray in her hair than brown, and the lines bracketing her mouth and eyes appeared deeper.
“Well, you certainly didn’t make it easy,” I replied in French.
She sighed. “Yes, well, I’d hoped to avoid such a thing. But Pauline always was one for theatrics, and my plan wasn’t flashy enough for her.”
“Wait. Pauline Laurent?” I felt like I’d been struck in the head and my mind was struggling to regain traction. “You’re the one who asked Madame Zozza to pretend to summon you?”
“No. That was entirely Pauline’s doing.” She sniffed in affront. “As if I would ever do something so ridiculous. That girl was simply supposed to pull you aside and tell you that you might be in danger, and that I needed your help.”
“Oh, only that?” Sidney drawled.
Rose and I both turned to look at him where he stood in the middle of the room, Alec hovering at his elbow.
“I dare say this is your husband,” she deduced.
He moved forward, accepting her proffered hand while I performed the introductions. They greeted one another cordially enough, though I could tell they were both taking each other’s measure. Then Rose’s mouth curled into a genuine smile, clearly realizing the same thing. “Good man,” she murmured, patting his hand where it still clasped her other one.
A flash of amusement crossed Sidney’s face before we all turned to Alec.
“And this is Captain Alec Xavier, one of my colleagues from the Secret Service,” I explained. “He worked covertly in Belgium during the war.”
She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing him even more closely. Alec, for his part, was wise enough not to display his usual insouciance, sensing correctly that it would not endear him to her.
“As one of the Bosche, no?”
How she’d deduced he’d infiltrated the German Army, I don’t know. Perhaps after observing his comportment, she’d discarded all the other usual possibilities as unlikely. Whatever the case, I could tell that for Alec her estimation had just gone up.
“Can he be trusted?” she asked me without removing her eyes from his.
I knew that for her, nothing short of a confident answer would do, so I gave it to her despite my remaining reservations. “Yes.”
Then she surprised me by addressing Sidney. “And what of you, Mr. Kent? Do you think he can be trusted?”
I turned to my husband, curious what h
e would say, and certain that whatever it was, Rose would heed it. Sidney did not respond at first, instead turning to study Alec with an air of almost disinterest. But when his gaze shifted to meet mine, I could see that he was far from detached. The knowledge of my and Alec’s past relationship flashed in his eyes.
But in spite of that, or perhaps because of it, I felt myself relax. Sidney had served as an officer on the Western Front. He had assessed the fitness of thousands of men, sized them up in the heat of battle when death was but a fingertip away. I realized I trusted him to make this call. That unlike during the war, it didn’t all come down to my judgment alone. I could rely on him.
Whether Sidney understood I’d come to this epiphany or not, the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth softened. He nodded to Rose. “Yes, I trust him.”
Alec’s face registered briefly with shock, something I wasn’t sure I’d ever witnessed. It was immensely satisfying. Particularly knowing that my husband had caused it.
“Then let us sit down and I will explain what this is all about,” Rose declared, gesturing to the table and simple ladder-back chairs, which were the only furniture in the floral wallpapered room other than a narrow bed and battered chest.
“What of Madame de l’Epine?” I asked as we sat. “Will she be joining us?”
Rose shook her head. “I’m afraid not. The good woman died just a week before Tourcoing was liberated.”
“Oh, how sad,” I replied, having known the older woman was battling a grave illness. And yet, still she had done all she could for the Allies and her fellow countrymen.
“But I trusted you would decipher my riddle and know to find me here. And so you have.” She exhaled, clapping her hands. “But on to my tale. Some months after the war was over, I received a visitor.” She glanced at me. “You will recall Adele Moilien, I believe. I delivered her baby the night you stole the map case from that German aviator.”
I nodded.
“Well, the first time she came to see me, she was furious. Though, truly she was more distraught. She’d lost so much, including her baby to the influenza. Much of the village all but shunned her for daring to take the Bosche as lovers, not understanding she hardly had a choice in the matter. Certainly not the first time.” She shook her head angrily. “She informed me that her brother, Étienne, had been arrested the day after her baby was born and sent to prison in Germany. And then she accused me of framing him, of leaving behind incriminating evidence in their home and informing on him to the Bosche. I knew better, of course. I would never have been so stupid as to leave anything more than ashes for the Secret Police to find.”
I’d thought as much, but I’d left the task in her hands as I hastily buried the map case, so I hadn’t been able to recall with certainty whether that was true. But if Emilie said it was so, I believed her.
She spread her hands wide. “I offered the girl what comfort I could, and when she told me she didn’t know what had become of her brother, I told her I would help her find out. After that, she came to see me many times, and a sort of friendship developed between us. I think she had no one else.” She grimaced, but then held up her finger. “But I could tell there was something she was not telling me. When I told her I’d discovered her brother had survived the end of the war and returned to Belgium, her reaction was not at all what one would expect. So I surmised this must be what she’d been hiding. That she must have already known.”
Her eyes hardened. “But then, someone set fire to my house. Fortunately, it was sloppily done and I was not asleep. I smelled the smoke and with the help of a few neighbors, was able to douse the flames before they could do more than minor damage. But I knew then that she had not told me all.
“I was debating what I should do when Adele came to see me the next day. She was frantic and weeping inconsolably. She told me she’d known her brother was alive, that he’d been quizzing her for information about me. That she was certain it was he who tried to burn my house down. It was evident the girl was terrified of him. He claimed he’d worked for British Intelligence during the war, but that they had double-crossed him. That it was they who informed on him and planted evidence so that he would be arrested by the Bosche.” She pressed a hand to her chest in outrage. “And I had been the one to do it.” Her dark gaze flicked to me. “Or Verity.”
I couldn’t withhold a flinch. “Because of the map case?”
“Adele had found it some months earlier and not known what to make of it, but apparently Étienne saw it as confirmation. She said he would not stop until I was dead. And that she feared he was planning something much worse, though she could not tell me what.”
She stood, crossing to the door to speak with someone outside in a soft voice before returning. “I decided then that the best course was for me to go into hiding until I understood better what Monsieur Moilien planned. Though I do not like to admit it, I will tell you the man gave me quite a turn. Here, I thought my instincts were as keen as ever, and yet not for a second during the war had I suspected him of being any sort of agent. I was aware of his history. Earlier in the war, he’d been rounded up and taken to another part of Belgium where he was forced to work in the fields, leaving his sister unprotected.”
“Which was, I imagine, how she’d ended up entertaining German officers in the first place?” Alec’s mouth twisted cynically. “Who better to prey on but the defenseless?”
A furrow formed between Rose’s eyes. “Because of this, I always suspected he’d harbored a particular hatred toward the Bosche, even though he sullenly knuckled under, but I’d never believed he actively resisted. And now this man is telling his sister he was an agent? Who was I to say for certain? I had only been connected to British Intelligence through La Dame Blanche. And I’d never met any agents outside of it save you.” She gestured to me. “So I elected to keep the matter to myself at first.”
I nodded, understanding her logic for doing so in the beginning, and hoping she would clarify why she’d continued to do so.
“It was relatively easy to confirm he’d never been a member of La Dame Blanche, but there were always lone agents and small bands of citizens working separate from us. And I didn’t know in what capacity he had performed his role.”
“What of Adele?” I asked. “Perhaps she could have gotten more details from him.”
“Mais oui, Gabby, I am coming to that,” she reproved me gently, using my code name. She pressed her hands flat on the table, staring down at them as her brow grew heavy. “All this time I continued to correspond with the girl, in code, mind you, through an anonymous letter box asking for any information she could share. But mostly encouraging, nay, begging her to consider leaving Belgium. Her brother’s behavior toward her had grown increasingly worrisome and I feared the worst. I even told her I had a friend in London who could help her find a place.”
“Pauline,” I guessed.
She glanced up at me and the look in her eyes made the back of my neck prickle with dread. “I thought I’d finally convinced her to leave when I learned that she’d died. Burned to death in her cottage.”
I turned aside, swallowing hard to contain my shock and outrage. That explained why we hadn’t been able to find the Moilien’s cabin. “So Madame Zozza wasn’t his first success at murder.”
“It was his sister,” she stated succinctly.
There was a rap at the door then, a blessed reprieve as the woman who had guided us inside entered, carrying a tray filled with coffee and little pastries. Rose began to pour for each of us, releasing the aroma of the roasted beans.
“What? No roasted oat chaff or pea shells, simply for old time’s sake?” I jested in an attempt to lighten the weight of her most recent disclosure. Such items had been the poor substitutes the people in the occupied territories had to put up with during the war.
Rose scoffed. “You can take a stroll down memory lane if you like, but I’ll keep my java.” She dipped her head toward the plate. “And don’t be telling me you wish the ja
m in those tarts is sugared potato pulp either.”
“And here I’d thought we had it bad eating bully from tin cans,” Sidney remarked, referencing the tinned corned beef that was often part of the men’s rations while in the trenches. “I don’t think I’ll be complaining ever again.”
We all looked to Alec as he lowered his coffee after taking a drink. “What? Don’t look at me. I was one of those bastard Bosche officers back at headquarters for much of the war. We certainly weren’t going to deprive ourselves of a good meal even if our men in the trenches and the good German people back home had none.” He stared down at his cup morosely. “Honestly, it could put you off food forever.”
On that somber note, Rose resumed her tale. “After hearing about Adele’s death, I ordered the friend who was checking our anonymous letter box for me to stop going. I was afraid her brother might have extracted the information of its location from her. But then a few weeks later, I received a message through a different anonymous letter box I’d set up in another village.” She tapped the table with her finger. “Except this address I’d only given to La Dame Blanche. And, yet, who should utilize it but Étienne Moilien.”
My eyes widened in surprise. “How did he get the address?”
“I don’t know. But that’s one of the reasons why I feared involving La Dame Blanche and British Intelligence. Because either he was an agent, or he had a contact who was.”
“What did his letter say?” Sidney asked as he began to remove his cigarette case.
But she halted him with a lifted hand. “No smoking, please. Not in here. It inflames my asthma.”
“Of course.” He dropped the case back into his pocket.
“He blamed me for the fact that Adele had to die. And told me she wouldn’t be the last. That if the British were so eager to sacrifice others to their cause, he would help them along.” Her gaze shifted to meet mine. “And that I and my assistant were next.”
Treacherous Is the Night Page 29
