“Probably take up nursing.” She wanted to add that she’d help the war effort however she could, but didn’t think her German dinner companions would appreciate her enthusiasm to aid the French army.
As they left dinner, Gerda said she had some letters to write in her room. Charles and Otto were obviously going to be meeting with the Schwartz Brothers, whoever they were. Alouette declared she was tired and would retire early.
When she got to her room, she chose the darkest dress she had, a dingy shade of gray, and a matching overcoat to protect her from the cold. She walked as quietly as she could through the forest to the hut. Heart pounding, she crouched in the darkness of a large tree. It was only a matter of minutes before she saw Charles and Otto exiting, accompanied by two short, heavy-set men. They paused in front of Alouette’s tree and she bent lower, trying to make herself nearly invisible despite the bare branches.
Otto’s voice rang out clearly as he spoke in German, “You must hurry up because she is leaving soon.”
She was sure they were talking about her.
Alouette had just changed into her nightdress when she heard a knock. With a heavy heart, she put on her dressing gown and then opened the door. She was not exactly surprised to see Otto standing in the hallway, but the look on his face plunged her into terror.
She forced the fear out of her voice. “What do you want with me?
Before he had time to reply, Gerda barged in. Behind her were the two heavy-set men from the hut. Alouette backed into the corner of the room.
“Do not be afraid,” Otto stated. “We just want to ask you a few questions.”
“Yes?” She sat down in the corner chair, acting as nonchalantly as she could.
Gerda looked at her. If it were possible, her eyes were even colder than they had been at breakfast the other day. “Alouette, you came to Switzerland to spy for France.”
“We can prove it,” Otto added.
Alouette laughed, a hollow laugh, but she hoped her interrogators wouldn’t notice her lack of mirth. “I am very surprised to hear this. I have been living in this house for nearly a week. If I’ve overstayed my welcome, you could have simply said that. Although I intended on leaving tomorrow, I could go tonight.”
“We want to know why you came to Switzerland,” one of the unfamiliar men said.
“I’m getting tired of explaining my situation,” Alouette replied.
“Your story is a lie,” Otto said, his voice filled with an uncharacteristic rage. “Karl Mather is married and has two children. You couldn’t possibly have been engaged to him.”
Alouette could feel her face blush. “Gerda,” she turned to the woman she once thought of as a friend. “Gerda, haven’t I always stated that I haven’t received news from Karl for years?” She took a breath. “I went looking for him because I was tired of the war and wanted to get away from it. But what I would like to ask you is why you are demanding all of these explanations. Why do you need to know my personal business?” She cursed herself for that last statement: clearly it was because they were suspicious of her.
Otto got into her face. “You are a spy for France and you cannot deny it.”
“Fine, then I will leave.” All five pairs of eyes fixed themselves on her suitcase in the corner. It was open, and obvious to Alouette that someone had ransacked it earlier.
“You know what your fate will be in a neutral country if you are found guilty of espionage, don’t you?” Gerda asked. “You would be endangering Switzerland’s declaration of neutrality, and they won’t take kindly to that.”
“Dear Gerda,” She made her tone equally derisive. “If there are spies in Switzerland, you are on the wrong track if you suspect me.” Gerda’s expression did not change, so Alouette added, “At any rate, I presume they don’t condemn people in Switzerland without having proof.”
As calmly as possible, Gerda went to the suitcase and pulled out two envelopes that Alouette had never seen before.
“Can you explain these?” Gerda asked.
The two unfamiliar men, whom Alouette now assumed were policemen, followed Gerda’s movements with keen interest.
“What a dirty trick!” Alouette shouted. “You must have put those in earlier, when I was…”
“Spying,” Otto filled in.
Alouette grabbed the envelopes from Gerda. One had been addressed to the Hotel Blumenhaus in Geneva, postmarked from Germany. The other was purportedly from France and addressed to Alouette care of the mansion. She tore out this letter and gazed over it. The lines between the original words had been painted over with a glaze and showed a lightly stained code. She dropped the letter. “These are forgeries.”
Gerda narrowed her eyes, but Otto’s glance at the policemen revealed his concern they would believe Alouette. “You must go with these two gentlemen,” he stated tersely.
“I presume there is a French consul in this town. I will go to them in the morning. Kindly clear out of my room. Now,” Alouette emphasized.
One of the stock officers stepped forward. “Madame, he’s right. You must come with us.”
Alouette gave a deep sigh. “Do you mind if I change first?”
The man looked uncertainly at his companion, who conceded. The first man bowed, and then left, the other police officer following suit. Gerda planted her feet and crossed her arms, as if to say, you can’t make me leave, but Otto told her, “She’s in the hands of the police now. She can’t do any more harm.”
“How do we know she won’t escape through that window?” Gerda asked, nodding at it.
“She won’t. Come on.” He grabbed her by the elbow and practically pulled her out of the room.
Overcome by an inexplicably childish impulse, Alouette stuck out her tongue at the closed door. She dressed slowly, mulling over Gerda’s suggestion as she tied a scarf around her neck.
She walked to the window and pulled back the curtain to reveal a peaceful view of the countryside, the light of the moon outlining the roadway beyond the mansion. Her room was on the second floor, and she therefore risked breaking a leg, or both legs, if she jumped to the ground. Not to mention escaping would be a full admission of guilt. But then again, she was accused of spying in a neutral country, and even the flimsiest proof would land her in prison, not to be liberated until the war was over.
She sighed, deciding it would be better to face the charges brought against her rather than run from them. She emerged from her room to find the policemen waiting in the hall.
“Gentleman, I am ready,” Alouette told them.
It must have been around 9 pm, Alouette guessed as the police led her to a carriage in the driveway. They rode into town and parked in front of the police station. There was not a gleam of light in any of the shop windows facing the deserted streets. Only the footfalls of the three of them broke the silence of the night. Everything in the town appeared strange to her; if the Swiss police decided to throw her into prison, Alouette knew no one would ask any questions. She was absolutely alone.
One of the men opened the door to the station and gestured for her to enter first. As she stepped into the dimly lit room, another man who had been dozing in a corner woke up with a start. He sleepily led Alouette to yet another badly lit room, this one windowless with only a sorry-looking bed in the corner for furniture. She heaved her bag onto it with a sigh. Swiss jails were apparently no better than French ones.
The new policeman told her that the commissary had gone home for the night and she would need to spend the night in the lock-up.
Somehow Alouette managed to fall into a fitful sleep. She was determined not to despair, no matter how grim the situation seemed from a Swiss jail cell.
Based on the dim light in the hall outside, dawn had broken when the policeman from the previous night reappeared. “The chief wants to see you.”
Chapter 15
Marthe
December 1914
Marthe did not sleep any better in the days leading up to the bombing. She was especi
ally restless Tuesday evening and, around 3 am, when the ordnance train was due to arrive, rose and went to the window.
She gasped as she saw a low light coming into town. The buzzing of an airplane followed, and she was filled with elation when she realized that the Allies were indeed going to bomb the ordnance train. The message had gotten through! A low, thunderous noise started, and her heart sank as she realized it was the sound of a German anti-aircraft gun.
She hurried to her mother’s bed and shook her awake. “The cellar, Mother. You must get underground!” Her mother rose sleepily and, without asking questions, allowed Marthe to lead her and the grocer’s family to the cellar.
Once she was sure her mother was secure, Marthe ran back upstairs and threw a cloak over her nightdress. Seized with a sudden need to make sure the train station was destroyed, she went outside through the back door and crouched underneath some shrubbery.
She tilted her head upward and, using the German searchlights combing the sky, tried to track the Allied planes. Marthe could only discern one single-engine plane.
One plane? It seemed ill-advised to send a solitary aircraft to face the onslaught of German guns. But the plane was holding its own among the clouds of shrapnel.
Then came a ghastly shriek, growing louder and louder until the earth shook. A yellow light flashed above the rooftops of her neighbors. The airplane was bombing the town. She closed her eyes and pictured the ordnance train—loaded with weapons of destruction meant to destroy the Allies—obliterated.
Thud after thud shook the ground beneath Marthe’s feet, but still she could see the long shadow of the train waiting at the station. The bombs missed their mark! Soon the spraying of machine guns started, the projectiles creating red and yellow stars against the gray smoke.
Marthe’s legs crumpled and she hit the mud hard as another explosion sounded. Covered in soot and evergreen needles, she rose unsteadily. The shingles from the house next door floated in the air as if they were dust being blown by unseen lips. The view toward the train depot was obscured by smoke, but she knew that last bomb had hit its target and once the smoke cleared, nothing more would be seen of the ordnance train.
Still, the rat-a-tat-tat of German machine guns filled the air, aiming for the Allied plane above. She heard screams and sobs from her neighbors, the sound of broken glass shattering as people ran from burning houses. Was this harrowing situation her fault? Would innocent bystanders, acquaintances or even friends, die because of the intelligence she passed on to the Allies? But it’s war, she reminded herself, clenching her hands. And the Germans have done far worse to many Belgian villages. That thought didn’t stop her from shivering uncontrollably, however.
Marthe considered going to the Grand Place to see if anyone needed help, but her feet seemed cemented to the ground. She raised her head again, only just able to catch a glimpse of the plane as it climbed higher, trying to reach the clouds and the safety they provided from the German guns. But then its tail caught fire, as if it were a dragon breathing from the wrong end.
The terrible burning grew brighter and brighter against the black sky. Marthe barely had time to register that the plane was falling before it crashed into the ground. The roar it made on impact reverberated through her entire body. She pictured the British aviators lying mutilated in a field, their khaki uniforms engulfed in flames, suffering a slow, agonizing death. In the morning, nothing would be left of the heroes but unrecognizable, charred remains. Once again, bile rose in her throat, and she leaned over to vomit in the nearest bush.
As she straightened, she saw that both the station and the ordnance train had indeed been demolished. The mission had succeeded, but at what cost? The machine guns were still rattling and smoke permeated the night air—there was nothing she could do until morning. She wiped off the bile residue with her sleeve and headed back into the house.
After escorting her mother back upstairs, Marthe sat in her bed wide awake, knowing as busy as the hospital would be tomorrow, she’d never be able to sleep. When she closed her eyes, all she could see were houses in flames, crashing airplanes, and mangled bodies. What new horrors would daylight bring? And what had become of poor little Fischer, the train station manager with the shiny boots?
She finally broke down in tears, crying for all that the world had lost since the war began.
Chapter 16
Alouette
January 1915
It took some convincing for the Swiss police to let Alouette go, but eventually she managed to prove the letters were fakes by pointing out that she’d only been at the mansion for a week, not nearly long enough to receive a piece of mail from France. Luckily the police commissary had an affinity for all things French and decided to allow her to return to her native land. Obviously Otto and Gerda had over-estimated Swiss sympathy for Germany when they attempted to arrange to have her sentenced without a trial.
The first place Alouette went when she reached Paris was to visit with “Monsieur Delorme.”
She barged into the parlor at 26 rue Jacob, intending to tell Ladoux just what she thought of his spying methods when he turned around, the same shrewd look on his face as before. “Madame Richer, I’ve arranged for you to travel to Spain.”
Alouette was too flabbergasted to form a coherent reply. “But Captain—”
“Immediately,” he continued.
She finally found her voice. “No. I don’t need a repeat of my failed mission in Switzerland. Clearly I’m not cut out for espionage.”
Ladoux shrugged his shoulders, as if he’d expected her to say as much.
Alouette’s curiosity got the best of her. “What did you have in mind?”
“What you ought to have succeeded in doing in Switzerland.” He sat down behind the desk and gestured to the chair in front of him.
Alouette crossed her arms, refusing the seat. “Spy on the Germans? But we both know that neutral Spain is cut off from the arena of war.”
“On the contrary,” he spoke quietly and Alouette had to lean in to hear him. “There is a great deal to be done in Spain. Many German officers have been stationed there, and your job will be to find out why.”
“If you’ll pardon me, Captain, I have been…”
He held up his hand. “Never mind all of that. You can make up for the missteps you took in Switzerland.”
Alouette pondered this sudden change in the Captain’s attitude. His manner had always been somewhat suspicious toward her, but now he seemed open, if not downright friendly.
She finally sat down to relate what had happened in Switzerland. As she began to describe Gerda, he interrupted her. “Ah, yes, I’ve heard of such a character. The blonde woman, your Gerda, is otherwise known as Elsa Shragmüller, a German spy. I suspect that ‘Otto’ and ‘Charles’ go by other names as well. It is also my suspicion that your friends were involved with illegal transmissions to and from Germany via Swiss wires. So you see, madame, your, as you called it, ‘failed mission’ was not such a failure after all.”
Alouette shook her head. “I do not speak any Spanish.”
“Well, if that’s how you feel,” Ladoux stood up. “I will have to find someone else.”
“Wait,” Alouette didn’t mean for the word to come out, but she couldn’t stop herself. “I can do it.”
He frowned as his eyes dragged down from her rumpled hat and travel-weary clothes to her dust-covered boots. The suspicion was back. Distrust must permeate every corner of the Secret Service, Alouette thought as Ladoux resumed his seat.
“It is my duty to warn you, Madame Richer,” his voice had taken on a harsh tone, “that if you happen to carry off any coup successfully for us, it will be impossible for you to give up working for us afterwards. If you deviate from your duty and allow them to bribe you with their gold, don’t forget the terrible fate that awaits you.”
Alouette laughed at the thought of accepting German gold. “I could only guess that fate would be a firing squad.”
He took no
notice of Alouette’s flippant reply and fixed her with a grim look. “You are taking your life in your hands.”
Alouette’s smile faded. “Yes, Captain.”
“Have you any money?”
“No,” Alouette answered. She hadn’t been lying to the Germans about that point. “I shall write to my lawyer.”
Ladoux extracted his wallet and tossed eight hundred francs across the desk. “That’s all I have. Get the Germans to pay you. Our department is hard up for funds.”
Chapter 17
M’greet
January 1915
After approaching her old lover, Harry de Marguérie, on the Rue Boissière, M’greet convinced him to help her gather her things from Neuilly. Together they packed crate after crate of silverware, drapes, and furniture.
“I can’t believe this stuff is still here,” Harry stated as he tucked a fringed lampshade into one of the crates.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” M’greet asked.
He straightened and put his hand on his back. “We’re at war, remember? People are becoming desperate from starvation.”
“Starvation?”
“Maybe not in Neuilly or that pretty house you are building in the Hague, but in many other places. And a lot of them are freezing to death, not just the soldiers in the trenches. France’s coal supplies lie behind the German lines.”
M’greet picked up a fur stole. She hesitated for a second as Harry frowned at her, but then she resumed wrapping the fur in tissue paper before placing it in a crate. She knew him well enough to know he was thinking she should donate the stole to some poor cretin off the street. “Those Boches confiscated my full-length furs. I need something to keep me warm in the winter,” she said by way of explanation.
He unceremoniously dumped the last of M’greet’s things on top of the stole. “Are we quite done here?”
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