The Maids of Chateau Vernet

by Steven Landry

  “I am in no danger here.”

  “You don’t understand. The whole area, all of Occupied France, is under attack. Not just from the Germans you see. The Allies are preparing to destroy all those who support them. Everyone is in danger. You need to leave.”

  “Impossible,” he said. “I have nothing to fear from the Allies. Vichy will protect us.”

  “Think about the children, Garon. Your sister is less than one hundred kilometers from here. Not far enough away from what’s coming.”

  “You should get back to the work camp. Someone will know you are here. If you really wanted to protect me, you wouldn’t have come here.”

  “I cannot go back to the work camp. They were going to kill us, all of us.”

  “A little hard work isn’t going to kill you.”

  “It’s not the work that is going to kill us. They are going to gas everyone. Everyone at the camps is being shipped to Auschwitz. Hiram called it an extermination camp.”

  “Hiram?” Garon said.

  “He helped us to escape.”

  “There are more of you?”

  “Yes, but they are safe. Garon, I need you to listen to me. Get the children and get away.”

  Garon stood and made his way over to the stove. “I understand. Why don’t we sit, have a cup of coffee? You can go with me to get the children and we will get out of France together – as a family.”

  She nodded, relieved. “What about the check points? The police are everywhere.”

  He approached the stove, loaded a small amount of coal inside, and struck a match to set it ablaze. “You let me worry about the police. Sit down and relax your weary feet.”

  Rosette sat, watching the man she loved work the kitchen. He should not know how to do these things so well. She had been gone too long. Months had passed with this hard-working man caring for himself. Yet, she did not jump to help him.

  “We should take a change of clothes with us. Some for the children, don’t you think?”

  “Coffee first,” he said.

  She sat in silence, taking in the room she thought had been forgotten. A few hours here and she could make a delightful meal for the family, maybe one of Leverette’s favorites – a cheese soufflé. The rations provided enough for a small dish. How she longed for a delicious home cooked meal. After weeks of eating Hiram’s packs of food, she thought she might kill for a decent dish.

  Garon ran coffee beans through the grinder, the familiar crunch announcing the rich scent to follow. She missed real coffee.

  “Where did you get coffee? I don’t remember it being on the ration card.”

  “I-“ a sound outside interrupted Garon’s words. He set down the sack towel. “Stay here. I’ll see what is going on.”

  “I saw a light on in the neighbor’s house. Maybe something happened to them.”

  “Perhaps.” The light of a torch passed by the front window. Garon slipped out the door, closing it behind him.

  Rosette waited as instructed, the kettle on the stove beginning to moan as the water came to a boil. When the front door opened, it was not Garon who stepped inside. A policeman entered the house. Her heart sunk. She had made it so close to escaping.

  “No, I’m not even Jewish,” Rosette said. Her voice riddled with desperation. She backed away from the man. “They are going to kill all of us. I can’t go back there. I know what you are doing to those people. I’m part of it because my great-great-grandmother fell in love with a man who was born Jewish. I’m Catholic!”

  “Rosette, I am Emile Locard. We need to get you out of here,” the policeman said.

  “It doesn’t matter who you are. I’m not going back to one of those camps. You’ll have to shoot me. Please. One shot,” Rosette said.

  “I do not want to hurt you,” he said. “I think we need to talk.”

  She searched for a way out of the kitchen. If she could slide past the policeman, she could run outside. Garon would be waiting to get them out together, just like he planned.

  The policeman stepped farther into the kitchen. “Come with me,” he said. “I can keep you safe.”

  “You are one of them,” Rosette said. “How can I trust you?”

  “You think you can trust your husband?” Locard said.

  “Of course. I needed to go away for the children. We both thought it would be better for them.”

  “And where are your children now?”

  “With family. Garon can’t hold his job with the responsibility of the children. He is an important man you know.”

  Locard’s voice grew harder. “He turned your children in too, Madame.”

  “No. Can’t be. He loves them.”

  “He loves himself more. I read the report. He turned your kids over to the police. Said they might turn on him. He is protecting himself.”

  “He wouldn’t do it,” Rosette said, her voice soft, disbelieving.

  “Who do you think called the police?” Locard paused, waited for her response, but she said nothing. “Come with me, quietly. I know of a place where you will be safe.”

  “The children – can you help me find them?” Rosette said.

  “I don’t know where the children have been taken,” Locard said.

  “Please,” she begged. “Sophie is so little. She’ll never survive. Please.”

  “I can try. Will you come with me?”

  Rosette looked at Locard, then back to the door. “Promise you’ll help me find them.”

  “I’ll help.” He looked back to the door, as if waiting for Garon to come back in as well. “Now, come with me. We don’t have much time to get you out of here. If I am gone too long my superior will suspect.”

  Rosette walked toward the man. He grabbed her arm and squeezed. “Walk with me, and don’t say anything.”

  She nodded and followed his instructions.

  As they approached the policeman’s car, Garon approached her. He walked with purpose, as if he intended to take down the policeman. At that moment, she knew they were getting out of this place, out of France. Rosette played out her part in her head. She would grab Locard’s pistol as she tried to set him off balance. Then she could get him to the ground.

  Garon closed in on her position. Rosette turned as if she wanted to say goodbye to her husband, setting her in the perfect position to take down the policeman.

  But the man she had been married to for eight years wanted to clear his own name with the policeman named Locard. “I wasn’t hiding her,” he said. “She just showed up. I called you as soon as she walked in the door.” Rosette’s world fell apart.

  “You took the appropriate action. We’ll make sure her actions are punished,” the officer said as he opened the door for Rosette. She climbed in, her action’s mechanical, tears streaming down her face. He closed her door and climbed in himself.

  As the car’s engine started, Garon yelled “filthy Jew” at the car and spit on ground.

  22

  0715 hours, Wednesday, August 5, 1942, Perpignan, Pyrénées-Orientales Department, Vichy France

  Captain Louis Petain arrived at the office early. His assistant had reported a call about a Jewish woman breaking into a home in Brugheas. All of the Jewish people in the town had been rounded up back in June. He heard of no exceptions in the area. With a small army of his men living and patrolling in the town, Petain doubted they missed a single woman. The French families in the area knew better than to hide the Jews in their homes or on their property. He had seized more property in the last three months than the office had in the previous ten years for such intolerable behavior. Perhaps one of his men had become soft.

  He had decided to send an officer out to the site anyway.

  The call had come in before dawn. Petain recalled few details. Perhaps he had not paid enough attention. He had been so distracted by the mess caused by this mysterious Jew-loving soldier that his interest in the mundane day-to-day operations of running this office dwindled. Of course, he remained skeptical of his direct repor
ts ensuring things ran well without him.

  “Bonjour Capitaine Petain,” his assistant Rubi said as he approached her desk. Her energy escalated his unpleasant mood. She worked harder than the assistants he hired in the past and she made one hell of an espresso. Both warranted keeping her around. Her willingness to share information – gossip as she called it – deemed her an ally. “Espresso this morning, sir?”

  “Yes,” he said and then headed to his office, almost forgetting the break-in. “Was the suspect in this morning’s break-in apprehended?”

  “Thibult was going to go, but then the assignment was taken over by Monsieur Locard. I have no confirmation on the outcome, sir.”

  “Locard? Why would Locard be making house calls?”

  The assistant looked at him for a moment, unsure how to address his question. “I-“

  Just then Petain saw Thibult step into the office area.

  “Perhaps Officer Thibult will be able to provide an explanation as to why a criminalist’s time was spent apprehending a break-in suspect.” Petain spoke loud enough for Thibult to hear him. Two other officers in the office looked from Petain to Thibult.

  Thibult quickened his pace to join Petain. “Sir, Locard believed the call was related to another case he was working on. He had asked to be informed if any calls to the police were made concerning that location. Said you would prefer that he address the situation.”

  “And you allowed Emile Locard to address the situation alone?”

  “It was one girl, sir. He said he could handle it.”

  “And where is Locard now?”

  “Sir?”

  Petain’s impatience magnified. “Where is Locard?”

  “I don’t believe he has returned,” Thibult said.

  “Well get out there and find him!”

  Thibult said, “Sir, he borrowed the squad car.”

  Petain took a deep breath, fearing he’d shoot the man standing in front of him if he did not take a moment. “If anything has happened to the criminalist, the payment will be cut from your hide. Are you off in the head, Thibult?”

  “Sir?”

  Petain addressed the two officers sipping espresso and seeming to enjoy the show. “Go find Locard!” He looked back at Thibult. “Give them the damned address.”

  Thibult headed towards the two officers who had set down their drinks.

  Then, as if on cue, the door opened and Emile Locard stepped in with his suit coat draped over his shoulder.

  “Perhaps Monsieur Locard is more competent than Officer Thibult after all. Locard, will you join me in my office?”

  Petain entered his office and Locard followed. “The door, if you don’t mind, and have a seat.”

  The Police Captain sat down in his chair, a comforting experience that eased a small portion of his irritation. He found that Locard’s safety added to this light improvement of his mood.

  “Officer Thibult should have accompanied you to the scene this morning,” Petain said.

  “The original report stated that the woman breaking into the home was believed to be Rosette Bertrand.”

  “Bertrand?”

  “One of the thirty missing maids.”

  “I see. And have you secured this woman for questioning?”

  “No sir. Turns out the report was from a neighbor. Rosette’s husband Garon Bertrand had invited over his mistress with instructions to come to the back door.”

  “The day appears to be littered with the actions of the feeble-minded,” Petain said. Any man considering involvement with a mistress should know better. They are things to be played with away from the family home. His own experience taught him the neighbors were the most likely to question one’s actions. Though he supposed a man who married a Jew could not be considered an adulterer. “Any other news to report on our missing maids?”

  “No sir. The incident provided me access to this woman’s family home. No indications of Madame Bertrand’s presence or any of the others.”

  “Do you think Monsieur Bertrand is hiding anything?”

  “No sir. The man even turned over his children to the police. Said he thought they had been corrupted by their mother’s blood.”

  “Mongrels. It’s probably best.”

  Rubi brought in his espresso and a cup of tea for the criminalist. “Anything else I can do for you sir?”

  “The train?” Petain sipped his espresso.

  “Yes sir. Telegraph arrived a few minutes ago. The train is scheduled to depart Drancy tomorrow morning.”

  “That should put them out of France by tomorrow night. Thank you.”

  Rubi left, closing the door behind her.

  “And the thirty missing prisoners?” Locard asked.

  “They are a threat to our people Locard. The sooner we find them the better.” The sooner I get my hands around their little necks, the sooner I can end the headache they’ve caused me.

  23

  0530 hours, Wednesday, August 5, 1942, Gibraltar, United Kingdom

  Soon after disembarking from the HMS Talisman, Sarah was escorted into the spartan office of Royal Air Force Wing Commander Michael Brigadoon.

  “Good morning, Miss Mendelson.” Brigadoon rose from his chair and came around the desk to take her hand.

  “Good morning, sir,” she said. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  “I should thank you for saving Flight Lieutenant Farley’s life. He tells me you are very handy with a pistol. And the medics tell me you worked a miracle keeping him from bleeding out until you got him to a doctor.”

  “Well, I had a lot of help from our Spanish friends in that regard. And I lost a good friend during the fight.”

  He held her hand in both of his for a moment. “I’m sorry to hear about your loss. A lot of good friends have been lost in this war.” Brigadoon released her hand and returned to the seat behind his desk. “Please, have a seat.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Sarah seated herself in the straight-backed chair facing him.

  “Now, how may I be of service?”

  “I’d like you to get a message to American General Dwight Eisenhower in England, please.”

  “I see. Can I assume this message has something to do with the impending attack on Saarbrücken?” He paused a moment. “Lieutenant Farley informed me of what you told him.”

  “Yes, sir. And I assume he also told you that the message was for American ears only?”

  “He did. You know we are allies with the Americans? There are no secrets between us.”

  Sarah only smiled at him.

  After a moment, he sighed. “As it happens, there are several senior members of Ike’s staff here on the Rock today. Let’s see if we can’t get a few moments with one of them.”

  Directing his voice at the closed door, Brigadoon called to his aide, who soon stuck his head into the room through a half-open door. “Yes sir?”

  “Captain Weathersby, please find out who is managing Major General Smith’s schedule and find us a few minutes to meet with him today. It’s an urgent matter. And send in some tea.”

  “Very good, sir.” The aide disappeared, quietly closing the door. Moments later a corporal knocked before entering the room with a tea service for two.

  “Who is General Smith?” Sarah said when the orderly had left.

  “Major General Bedell Smith has recently been appointed as Ike’s chief of staff. He stopped here on his way to England to take a tour of the Rock.”

  “To set up the headquarters for Operation Torch?” she asked.

  Brigadoon grinned. “You are well informed. How did you come by that information?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Once I’ve spoken to General Eisenhower, Operation Torch will be cancelled,” she said with assurance. “And I’m afraid I can’t say more than that.”

  Brigadoon gaped at her.

  Sarah and the Wing Commander passed the next few minutes chatting about conditions in Southern France, particularly with regard to the roundup of Jews.

  “Excu
se me, sir.” The aide’s head had reappeared at the door. “General Smith’s assistant says he is touring the central tunnels. You can join him now or schedule an appointment for Friday.”

  “I think it’s best we join him underground. Thanks Weathersby.” Brigadoon stood. “Miss Mendelson, please follow me.”

  They walked for what seemed like miles through the dimly-lit limestone caves of Gibraltar, Brigadoon stopping to show his credentials and sign Sarah into visitor’s logs at three different checkpoints. Finally, they caught up to General Smith’s tour group.

  “Good morning, Wing Commander. I’m told you wished a word,” Smith said before Brigadoon snapped off a salute.

  “Sir, it’s this young lady that would like a word.” Brigadoon turned to Sarah. “May I introduce Miss Sarah Mendelson? She has a message for General Eisenhower. I believe you should give her a moment. She seems to know a lot of things she shouldn’t.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Miss Mendelson.” Smith extended his hand and Sarah shook it.

  “Likewise, sir,” Sarah replied. “May we talk in private? It won’t take long.”

  “Very well.” Smith turned to an aide, who indicated the way to a nearby empty office. An armed man stood guard outside the office, falling in to position as if he’d been handed this assignment many times. Once alone inside the room, Smith smiled and pulled a small notebook from his pocket. “Okay, miss. What’s the message?”

  “Tell the general that Professor Conant’s flowers are about to bloom in Europe, the first in Saarbrücken, with others to follow soon thereafter.”

  Smith stopped scribbling at “bloom.” He looked at Sarah, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. “Not possible,” he said.

  “I assure you it’s going to happen,” Sarah said. “Probably in the next day or two.” I guess Eisenhower isn’t the only American in Europe with knowledge of the atomic bomb project.