Hetty's Secret War

by Rosie Clarke

  Suddenly she saw the face of the man behind him, saw his arm go back and the iron bar come crashing down on the back of the German’s head. Blood spurted all over the place, some of it splashing into Hetty’s face. She saw the grotesque image of death as the officer fell away from her, the startled look in his eyes moments before he died on the ground at her feet.

  ‘Are you all right, mademoiselle?’ Louis asked. ‘I’m sorry, but I could not come before – there were too many of them.’

  Hetty wiped the back of her hand across her face, wondering how much of the blood was hers and how much the German’s.

  ‘You were in time,’ she said. ‘How did you get here? You took a risk, Louis.’

  ‘Stefan sent me to take care of you,’ he told her. Hetty nodded. She’d known that Stefan would be the one who had foiled the enemy. He’d been watching from a distance, not trusting her to take care of his people. ‘These caves are not the only secrets of the chateau, mademoiselle. There are some that even Monsieur de Faubourg did not know. Come, I shall take you away from here. They are going mad up there, tearing the place apart. I heard them say they intended to fire it when they are finished.’

  ‘Set fire to it?’ Hetty was startled. ‘What about the Comtesse – Bernard and the others?’

  ‘They are all safe. Stefan took them away while the soldiers were busy with you. German soldiers are like puppets; their masters told them to wait outside until summoned and so they waited.’ He spat on the dead German lying on the ground. ‘Stefan told me to come for you and get you away.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she smiled at him and then glanced at the German officer. ‘What about him?’

  ‘Leave him here. If they come looking for him, they are welcome. We shall be long gone.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  Louis shook his head. ‘You will see for yourself soon enough, mademoiselle. Let’s go before they come looking for him…’

  *

  It was peaceful in the farmhouse bedroom where Adele lay dying. Hetty looked down at her, her heart wrung with pity. It had been too much for her – Pierre’s death had taken the hope from her life and the destruction of the chateau had drained the last of her strength.

  Tears caught at Hetty’s throat as she reached out to stroke Adele’s fine hair back from her forehead. She had learned to love the old woman and she would miss her, miss her indomitable spirit, her kindness and her company.

  ‘You should rest, mademoiselle,’ Louis said from the doorway. ‘There is nothing you can do for her now.’

  ‘Nothing except sit with her,’ Hetty said. ‘It is little enough, Louis, but I will keep a vigil while she lives.’

  ‘You should eat and drink. I will watch over her for a little.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps I should eat something,’ Hetty agreed. ‘You will call me if she wakes?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Hetty went out, feeling sad. It was hard to lose her friend like this after she had tried to protect and care for her. Anger raged in her as she thought of what had happened at the chateau. Louis had been back to see what had been done after the Germans had gone and he’d told her that it was a wreck, partly destroyed by fire and stripped of everything of any value. It would take a great deal of money to repair the shell and there was none, nor anyone to care; it would moulder away, left to the rats and birds to use as they would.

  Going into the kitchen, Hetty paused as she saw someone making up the fire in the range, her heart pounding. He turned as she waited on the threshold as if sensing her there, his slate grey eyes steady, not accusing but not smiling either, his hair longer than it had been, spiralled into curls that had been tangled by the wind. Her heart caught because she hadn’t known how much she had missed him until this moment of seeing him again.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Dying,’ Hetty replied, moving towards him. Her emotions were as tangled as his dark hair. She was wary of him, not trusting and yet longing to touch him, to be touched by him. ‘It can’t be long now.’

  ‘I suppose not. I understand she has been failing for a while. If she had to die it was a pity it didn’t happen before they came so that she never knew – but it can’t be helped.’

  ‘They destroyed everything, her dreams, her home, her memories. Why did they do that now? I expected them for months but they did not come – and now this. Why?’

  ‘They have been ordered to pull back towards Paris,’ Stefan said. ‘Apparently, they are abandoning this area. I think we’ve made it too uncomfortable for them. The allies have begun to beat them on several fronts, Hetty: at El Alamein, Tripoli and Stalingrad; the “dambusters” devastated the Ruhr and they are getting a beating in Russia. The Germans have had many setbacks this past year or so and they need more soldiers at the front; they can’t spare the men to patrol as they used to, so they are consolidating – that’s my information, though I can’t promise you it is true in all respects. I have made mistakes, as on the night Ben was killed.’

  ‘Ben told me he gave you the information. He may have made the mistake.’

  ‘I blamed you for what happened that night, but Louis told me what you did. I have never apologised for that, Hetty.’

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It hardly matters any more.’

  ‘What will you do now? Will you stay in France?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ she said, avoiding his penetrating gaze. ‘I shall try to get home.’

  ‘I can arrange that for you, Hetty.’

  ‘Thank you. I thought perhaps you might.’

  He moved towards the chair where his coat, satchel and a rifle lay, bending to pick them up. He slung the rifle over his shoulder. ‘I should leave. I never stay long in one place.’

  ‘You said the Germans were leaving the area?’

  ‘I shall find somewhere else to give them hell,’ he said and grinned at her in his old manner, making her heart turn over. ‘The war isn’t won yet, Hetty. It may be turning our way but we still have work to do. I shall only come home for good when the last German has been driven from French soil – or until they put me in my grave.’

  ‘Good luck,’ Hetty said. Her throat was hot with emotion, but she kept the tears inside. She couldn’t let him see that it was tearing her apart to say goodbye, couldn’t let him know that she loved him. ‘And thank you.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Sending Louis to rescue me.’

  ‘That was owed,’ he said. ‘I have to thank you for my house. Why did you do it, Hetty?’

  ‘It is a beautiful old house. I loved it when I stayed here – and it gave me something to do, something to relieve my grief over Ben. It was a healing process for me, that’s all.’ She avoided his eyes, because he would know she was lying – that she had other deeper reasons for what she’d done.

  She sensed his eyes lingering on her face for a moment. She turned to face him, trying to read his expression but failed.

  ‘I sent Louis to fetch you and you gave me back my home. I think that makes us even.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it does.’

  He nodded, smiled at her and went out. Hetty stared after him, the tears trickling down her cheeks. Why hadn’t she tried to stop him, to make friends with him? She turned as Louis came clattering down the stairs.

  ‘The Comtesse is awake and asking for you, mademoiselle.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Hetty brushed the tears from her eyes and went up to the bedroom. Adele held out her hand to her and she reached to take it, smiling gently. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Very tired. I want to sleep and I shall soon – but first I wanted to say goodbye to you, my dear one. You have been like a daughter to me. It was God’s blessing to me when Pierre brought you to the chateau.’

  ‘And you have been a mother to me,’ Hetty said, choking back her emotion. ‘Thank you for loving me, Adele.’

  ‘How could I help loving you? Surely everyone who knows you must love you?’

  Hetty shook her head and be
nt to kiss Adele’s cheek. As she straightened up, she saw that the Comtesse had closed her eyes and, as she watched, the colour drained from her cheeks. Her breath issued in a harsh rattle and then it was over.

  ‘Oh, Adele,’ Hetty said, the tears she had tried to hold back pouring down her cheeks. She was crying for the hurt that Adele had suffered in her last hours, for the loss of a friend – of all the friends who had died – and for herself. ‘You said that everyone must love me, but they don’t… they don’t. Stefan doesn’t love me. He never did…’

  *

  ‘I am sorry that you go,’ Louis said. ‘But it is right that you should return to your family. You have done your share for us and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.’ He kissed her on both sides of her face formally and then laughed and hugged her. ‘Take care, Mademoiselle ’Etty, and come back to us one day.’

  ‘I shall if I can,’ she promised and smiled at him. ‘Tell me, Louis – what happened to the treasure?’

  Louis shrugged expressively. ‘Who knows, mademoiselle – but I do not think it should give you cause for tears. Perhaps there is someone who knows more, but I cannot say.’

  ‘Ah yes, I thought as much.’ Hetty laughed. ‘Keep your secrets, Louis. I don’t want to know. I’m glad it has gone. After all his scheming, Pierre deserves to lose it.’ She had realised that he must have laid his contingency plans before he was wounded, perhaps even before the war. Why, she would never know, but she did know that he had used her for his own purposes just as he’d used the Comtesse and everyone else.

  They saw the plane circling in the sky, preparing to land and then Louis gave her a little push and she was running across the open strip, being pulled into the small aircraft and welcomed by a smiling young Englishman.

  ‘Welcome aboard, Miss Tarleton,’ he said and gave her a respectful salute. ‘It is a privilege and an honour to meet you.’

  ‘Good gracious – why on earth is that?’ Hetty was genuinely surprised.

  He grinned at her. ‘They will have my guts for garters if I spoil the surprise, but I think you’ll find there’s quite a welcoming party waiting for you at the other end. We know how to treat heroines at home, Miss Tarleton.’

  ‘I think there must be some mistake,’ Hetty said. ‘I haven’t done anything very remarkable.’

  ‘I believe you will find there are quite a few people who think differently back home.’

  ‘I can’t imagine why,’ Hetty said and she couldn’t. Why on earth should anyone think her a heroine?

  *

  ‘Thank goodness that is all over!’ Hetty said when at last she was in the chauffeur-driven car with Annabel and heading towards home. ‘I never expected all that and it was quite unnecessary.’

  ‘We were so excited when we got the call,’ Annabel said. ‘Apparently, they think the world of you in France. You’ve been praised very highly and they say you will get a medal – here and over there too probably when the war is over.’

  ‘When it’s over,’ Hetty said and sighed as she thought of friends who remained behind, still risking their lives, their homes, living beneath the rule of a hated invader. ‘I wish I knew when that was likely to be, Belle.’

  ‘Not for a while I suppose,’ Annabel agreed. ‘But it’s heading that way, so they tell us. The Germans are suffering some of what they’ve been handing out to everyone else at last. Paul says give it another year and it will be all over bar the shouting.’

  ‘I hope he is right,’ Hetty said fervently. ‘I want to go back home as soon as I can.’

  ‘But this is your home and you’ve only just got back,’ Annabel said, a note of disappointment in her voice. ‘I was hoping you might settle here – if not with me at least near me.’

  ‘My home is in France,’ Hetty said. ‘You know I love you dearly, and I shall visit when I can and you must come to me too – but my home is in France.’

  She was thinking of an old farmhouse, the walls freshly whitewashed and the dresser set with china that was finer than would usually belong in a kitchen like that. And she was thinking of the man who owned it and the way he had once made love to her – and the way he had said goodbye.

  ‘I shall live in Paris as I used to, but I may buy a little cottage in the country just outside the city. That’s if I can afford it.’

  ‘I think Ben may have left you some money,’ Annabel said. ‘I have a letter for you and it feels as if there may be certificates or something inside it. He was quite anxious that Helen shouldn’t get her hands on it, so I think it may be worth something.’

  ‘Yes, he did mention it. I had forgotten,’ Hetty said and looked thoughtful. She had also forgotten about the message for Georgie, but perhaps she would see her soon and then she would tell her that Ben had thought of her as he lay dying.

  *

  Hetty read her brother’s short letter. He hadn’t known they would meet in France and he was saying goodbye to her. He had left her five thousand pounds in bonds and there was the same amount for Georgie. I’ve given them to you, Ben had written. It’s up to you what you do with them, but I would like Georgie to have the money if she needs it. Otherwise you keep it, Hetty. Annabel is comfortable and I know things have been hard for you, but I have always loved Georgie and she ought to have something.

  If it was Ben’s wish that Georgie should have the money, then Hetty would give it to her, of course, though according to Annabel she had already begun to recover from her grief and was thinking of marrying again. But that really had little to do with it; it was what Ben had wanted that mattered.

  *

  When Hetty saw Sarah, she knew at once that the child was Ben’s. She picked her up, cradling her in her arms and smiling as the child reached up to pat her cheeks.

  ‘She is Ben’s, isn’t she?’ she said, as Georgie sat silently watching. ‘He told me that he was in love with you, you know. He spoke of nothing but you just before he died.’

  Tears sprang to Georgie’s eyes and Hetty’s heart softened towards her as she saw that she did still care. She might be thinking of marrying again, but she hadn’t forgotten Ben. She probably never would, but she wasn’t the kind of woman to live alone, and she had children who needed a father. Hetty understood, although she didn’t think she would have taken the same solution.

  ‘Did he… did he suffer much?’ Georgie asked, her hands working in her lap. ‘Was he in a great deal of pain?’

  ‘No, not too much,’ Hetty lied, knowing that Georgie couldn’t bear the truth. ‘It was very quick. He asked me to tell you he had always loved you and then he died.’

  Georgie bent her head and wept for a few minutes, then she lifted it and wiped the tears away. She looked quite calm, in control, accepting, as though she had already made the decision to move on.

  ‘Thank you. He wrote me a last letter, but his death has always haunted me. I couldn’t help wondering if he suffered terribly at the end.’

  ‘You can stop worrying now,’ Hetty told her. ‘Ben left you five thousand pounds in certificates. They are some sort of American bond, so you may have to wait until after the war to redeem them, but he wanted you to have them.’

  ‘I shall save them for Sarah,’ Georgie said. ‘It will be nice for her to have something her father left her. You won’t tell Helen that she’s Ben’s child – will you?’

  ‘Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me,’ Hetty said and grimaced. ‘I can’t stand her and never could. Once Ben married her I knew I could never live under the same roof as her and my mother. I wrote to my mother and asked if she would like to see me, but she didn’t answer, so I imagine I am still not forgiven.’

  ‘Your mother is a very foolish woman!’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t bother me,’ Hetty said. ‘I have Annabel and Paul, and their children – and you and Sarah, and there’s Beth. That is surely enough relatives for anyone.’ She laughed as she said it, but she couldn’t help feeling a pang of regret inside as she looked at Sarah. If only she’d had a baby… Ste
fan’s baby.

  Now that was the most ridiculous sentiment! She was an idiot if she let herself dwell on such nonsense. Obviously she wasn’t meant to have children, but she would find other compensations when the war was over and she could go home.

  ‘What will you do now?’ Georgie asked.

  ‘Stay here for the time being,’ Hetty said. ‘I want to take up my art again. I might go back to college when the war is over and learn to paint the right way.’

  ‘I think your pictures are wonderful,’ Georgie said and she meant it. ‘Surely you don’t need to learn anything about art?’

  ‘Art is like life, you never stop learning,’ Hetty said. ‘I’m not nearly good enough, Georgie. Not if I want to earn a living at it – and I’m not much good at anything else either.’

  ‘You used to design some pretty dresses for Madame Arnoud. Wouldn’t you consider taking up something like that?’ Georgie raised her eyebrows as Hetty shrugged her shoulders in a very French way. ‘Or you might even meet someone and get married.’

  ‘Married? Me?’ Hetty went into a peal of laughter. ‘Oh no, I don’t think so. If I see a man I like I might have a relationship with him – but marriage isn’t for me.’

  ‘You’re such an independent person,’ Georgie said and smiled. ‘There was a time when I thought you were selfish and careless to run off the way you did – but I didn’t know you. I feel very proud to know someone who has been as brave as you have, Hetty.’

  ‘Now don’t you start,’ Hetty moaned. ‘What on earth all the fuss is about, I just don’t know. I wish I could just crawl in a dark hole and hide.’

  ‘But they want to give you a medal and write stories about you, take your picture for the women’s magazines. You are a heroine, my dear, and they want to celebrate that, make a big thing of it.’