Unless, that is, Baumann had managed to convince that swaggering bully of an officer he was who he said he was, but somehow Anthony didn’t think Captain von Casberg was a man open to persuasion.
No. He could assume that, with any luck, the entire staff would be on parade in the hospital courtyard. Which meant, of course, that the hospital should be deserted. As long as he could keep out of sight, he was safe.
He slipped out into the sun-lit corridor and, walking as quietly as he could, reached the head of the stairs. From the open window at the top of the staircase he could hear the shout of orders. He had been right about the identity parade.
There wasn’t a soul about as he went down the stairs to the ground floor. From what he had seen from the bedroom window, the orphanage garden was on the left-hand side. Turning left, he walked past deserted rooms along the arched hallway, until he came to a door.
It was a very solid door and it was locked. Anthony briefly toyed with the idea of trying to shoulder-charge it open, but all he’d probably achieve was a broken shoulder. No, that wouldn’t do. What else could he try? He looked around.
A few paces back was another door. Anthony opened it and saw it wasn’t so much a room as a long, narrow store cupboard for mops and buckets. With a grin he saw the window, high up in the end wall. Reaching up, Anthony undid the latch and opened the window a crack, listening intently once more.
The parade ground noises seemed distant here. He should be round the corner from the courtyard. Standing on an upturned bucket, he grasped the stone sill of the window, pulled himself up and, with a terrific heave, got onto the sill.
TWENTY-FOUR
The wall separating the convent proper from the hospital was feet away. Anthony had been right about that solid door. It had led into the convent and orphanage.
The wall, the mortar between the bricks loosened with rain and sun, was an easy climb. Without much trouble, he swarmed up it, quickly checked the coast was clear, and dropped down on the other side.
On his left loomed the bulk of the orphanage. Anthony quickly ran through what he knew of the geography of the place. The orphanage garden, which he had looked down onto from his bedroom, must lie round the other side of the building.
Anthony came to the corner and risked a glance round. At a guess he was in the convent grounds. The sloping lawn was bounded by trees and shrubs. Halfway along the building was an elaborate portico across from which stood the almost inevitable statue of the Virgin Mary.
Outside all was still but, from within the building, he could hear an organ playing and voices singing what sounded like a hymn. The lancet windows fronting onto the lawn were of stained glass. This must be the chapel.
He had been married to Tara long enough to know about the Catholic practice of saying the Angelus at midday. No wonder no one was about. All the nuns who weren’t on nursing duty must be inside the chapel. Good.
What he needed to do was run the length of the chapel to get round to the other side. He was just about to set off when the hymn swelled in volume. He took another glance round the corner. The chapel doors were open and two nuns were standing outside.
He swore under his breath. The hymn finished and the garden, which had been so temptingly deserted, was suddenly full of black-clad nuns and chattering children as they came out of the chapel. If they came round the corner he’d just have to hope Sister Marie-Eugénie wasn’t amongst them.
His luck held. From what he could hear, it sounded as if the nuns were taking the children off to lunch. After a few minutes, all was quiet once more.
Once more he glanced round the corner. The garden was deserted. Now for it!
He set off at a run. He had nearly reached the portico when the person he least wanted to see in the whole world came out of the chapel.
Sister Marie-Eugénie.
She started back as she saw him, her eyes wide with shock. Anthony knew she was going to scream.
He had to stop her. He had never laid rough hands on a woman in his life, but with one bound he had an arm securely round her shoulders and his hand clamped over her mouth.
Sister Marie-Eugénie was outraged. She wasn’t strong but she was determined and very nearly struggled free.
‘Quiet, Sister!’ he hissed. ‘If I take my hand away, will you be quiet?’
She glared at him ferociously but nodded. Anthony dropped his hand, ready to grab her again.
‘Why did you do it?’ he demanded, before she could say anything. ‘Why did you betray me?’
She stared at him. ‘What are you talking about?’
Anthony sighed impatiently. ‘You promised to bring Milly – Agathé – to my office, yes? Instead you telephoned Captain von Casberg of the Staff. You told him I was an English spy.’
She continued to stare. ‘But that’s what I was told to say,’ she broke out. ‘Your people told me to say it.’
‘People? What people? What on earth do you mean?’
She glared at him. ‘Your people. You know who I mean.’ Anthony shook his head, puzzled. ‘The staff officers,’ she insisted angrily. ‘When the staff officers came a few weeks ago I was told I would be tested and what would happen to us – the sisters and the children – if I failed the test.’
‘What would happen?’
‘How can you ask?’ Her scorn was withering. ‘Louvain has burned. The house of God and the servants of God mean nothing to you and your kind. You destroyed the cathedral, murdered the clergy and killed anyone who begged for mercy. What could I do? You are in control.’
‘I’m not in control,’ said Anthony. ‘I didn’t burn Louvain. I’m not the enemy. Don’t you understand? I’m English. Everything I told you in the office is absolutely true.’
She blinked. ‘I don’t believe you …’ she began but, for the first time, her face and her voice were doubtful.
Anthony pressed home his advantage. ‘Look, Sister, I’m not a Catholic, but my wife is. A few days ago I stood in Westminster Cathedral. This morning I stood in the cathedral of St Pierre. St Pierre could be Westminster. I was sickened by its destruction. I’m on your side.’
She put her hands to her mouth, staring at him. ‘Can it be true?’ she muttered, when they were interrupted by a nun hurrying round the corner.
‘Sister!’ she called. ‘Sister Marie-Eugénie!’ She stopped short as she saw Anthony.
‘It’s all right,’ said Sister Marie-Eugénie quickly. ‘What is it?’
The nun, a young woman, approached cautiously and, looking warily at Anthony, dropped him a curtsey before speaking. ‘It’s the German officer, Sister,’ she said breathlessly. ‘The Captain. He’s arrested the Colonel, but the Colonel says he’s never met you. The officer’s coming to take you to him to confront him. I wanted to warn you.’ She looked nervously over her shoulder. ‘I ran to get here. He’s right behind me.’
‘Thank you, Sister Thérèsa,’ said Sister Marie-Eugénie. ‘You’d better get back quickly.’
As the young nun hurried away, Anthony leapt up the steps, into the portico, and hid behind the pillar at the entrance. If von Casberg caught sight of him, the fat would really be in the fire. ‘Why do the Germans want Agathé?’ he asked softly from behind the pillar.
‘The child is …’ she began, then stopped. Anthony heard the crunch of footsteps on the gravel. Von Casberg was here.
In a carrying voice she called, ‘Yes?’
‘Marie-Eugénie?’ There was no mistaking von Casberg’s voice.
‘I am Sister Marie-Eugénie,’ replied the nun coldly.
‘Come with me.’
‘Must I?’ Her voice rose slightly. ‘The child is safe. She is with Sister Angelica. Sister Angelica will give the child to you.’
Thanks, Sister, thought Anthony, hiding in the shadows. That was as helpful as she could possibly be in the circumstances.
‘For the moment, the child is not my concern,’ said von Casberg. ‘My concern is the spy. He insists he has never met you. You must confront
him.’
‘Confront the spy?’ Sister Marie-Eugénie sighed theatrically.
Don’t overdo it, begged Anthony silently from the shadows.
‘What spy?’ she asked. ‘I don’t understand,’ she added, sounding genuinely puzzled.
And, of course, she would be. The Germans had warned her that she would be tested. That was clever. It meant that should anyone turn up – as, indeed, he had done – she would immediately assume they were part of the enemy’s plan. It was a practically foolproof way of ensuring her loyalty.
However, she didn’t know anything about Baumann. She must wonder who on earth was this spy who von Casberg wanted her to confront.
‘I don’t understand,’ she repeated. ‘It was a test.’
‘There was no test,’ said Captain von Casberg grimly. ‘The man you met is a spy.’
She gave a little cry. ‘No!’ then added anxiously, ‘what if the spy escapes? Am I safe? Are we safe? You know I have done everything you asked.’
‘He will not escape,’ said von Casberg. ‘Come with me.’
‘Tell me I am safe,’ she insisted. ‘Upon your word of honour as an officer, promise me I am safe. I have been a loyal servant to Germany. Tell me you know this.’
Again, it was all a bit theatrical, thought Anthony, but he could understand why she was worried. If he did, by some miracle, manage to get out of here with Milly, she’d want as much assurance as she could get that there would be no repercussions.
‘You have my word,’ said von Casberg impatiently. ‘You have proved you are loyal. That is just as well. Come along. Now, woman!’ Anthony could hear his quick, impatient sigh. ‘Far too much time has been wasted already. I am tired. Do you want me to lose my temper?’
‘Very well,’ agreed Sister Marie-Eugénie, her anxiety clear in her voice.
Anthony breathed a sigh of relief as their footsteps crunched away along the gravel. Now to find this Sister Angelica and, fingers crossed, find Milly too.
Outside was evidently hopping with Germans, so staying inside seemed like an attractive idea. The chapel was small and quiet, with the hushed silence of a sacred space. He quickly walked up the nave to the altar rails. He spared a glance at the painted crucifixion scene at the back of the altar and said a rare, quick, but fervent prayer. He needed all the help he could get, both material and spiritual.
With a slight feeling of sacrilege, he unlatched the little gate on the altar rails and stepped onto the altar. There didn’t seem to be any doors leading out of the chapel apart from the main entrance, but he had hopes.
What he was looking for was the sacristy where the priest and the altar servers put on their vestments. The door was set in the wall behind the pillars that framed the altar. It opened onto a small functional room, containing a wardrobe, a sink with vases stacked on the drainer, a cupboard and – thank God! – another door. By the door was something that made him pause.
It was a coat-rack with a couple of raincoats, presumably for the benefit of visiting clergy. Anthony took down a coat. It was old and shabby but it covered his uniform.
The fact there were coats here told him something else, too. He must be near an outside entrance.
Buttoning up the coat, he opened the door. It led out onto a tiled hallway, which, by its size and grandeur, looked like the front entrance to the convent. A short distance away, he could see sunlight through the glass panels set into the oak door of the porch. Presumably that led to the garden.
An impressive oak staircase led up from the hall, but Anthony didn’t think he’d find Sister Angelica upstairs. Besides that, if any nun found a German officer wandering round what presumably were the bedrooms, she really would have a fit of the jim-jams.
He was desperate to get on, but in the silence of the hallway he consciously forced himself to be still.
From along the hallway, away from the front door, he could hear the faint chinking of crockery. It sounded as if a meal was in progress but he couldn’t hear any voices. Hold on. This was a convent. They probably ate their meals in silence.
He walked along the hallway in the direction of the sounds of crockery and came to a large double door. That must be the dining room.
Across the hallway from the dining room was another, much more modest door. That opened onto a tiled kitchen.
The kitchen, bright with copper pipes, had a cavernous black oven, a stove, cupboards and a scrubbed table but what it chiefly contained were two nuns washing up.
They stared at him in amazement.
‘Good afternoon,’ said Anthony, with as much suavity as he could muster.
‘Monsieur,’ said one. ‘This is the convent. You should not be here.’
Anthony couldn’t agree more. At least with his uniform covered up by the raincoat, the women weren’t reacting with stark terror, which was something.
‘I know, Sister,’ he agreed. ‘But the matter is urgent. I have just spoken to Sister Marie-Eugénie. She knows I am here. I need to speak to Sister Angelica. Would you bring her to me?’ He tried a winning smile. ‘Please? At once?’
‘Sister Marie-Eugénie sent you?’ said the nun doubtfully. The women looked at each other and shrugged.
‘If Sister Marie-Eugénie says it’s all right, I suppose it is,’ said one, wiping her hands on a towel. ‘I’ll ask Sister Angelica to come and see you.’
She hung the towel up and left the room. The other nun regarded him doubtfully for a few moments, then resumed the washing up.
A few minutes later, the nun came back into the room, followed by another nun, leading a little girl by the hand.
Anthony stood up. ‘Milly?’
He scarcely believed his luck, but … Although he had longed to see her, he’d never have recognized her from her photograph. With an odd tinge of disappointment, he repeated her name. ‘Milly?’
The little girl looked at him blankly, then hid behind the nun’s skirts.
‘Her name is Agathé,’ said the nun.
Of course it was. Anthony had concentrated so much on Milly that he hadn’t really looked at Sister Angelica but, at the sound of her voice, he snapped his head up.
Sister Angelica was the nun he had spoken to in the courtyard.
‘Colonel?’ she asked, her eyes wide. ‘What are you doing here?’
At the mention of his title, the two other women hissed in alarm.
Anthony smiled reassuringly. ‘Sister Angelica, the less you know, the safer it is.’ He turned to the two nuns by the sink. ‘I am working for Belgium. For Belgium’s sake and for yours, please forget you have ever seen me. If I am caught, I will be executed.’
At this fairly stark sentence, both women crossed themselves.
‘It’s hard to explain,’ said Anthony. Time was passing. Captain von Casberg could only spend so long on his identity parade. Once Sister Marie-Eugénie had spoken up for poor old Baumann – as she was bound, in all conscience to do – the hunt would be on for the elusive Colonel Lieben. ‘Sister Marie-Eugénie will tell you everything after I am gone.’
Sister Angelica studied his face for a few moments. ‘You are the English spy,’ she said quietly.
Anthony nodded.
‘Sister Marie-Eugénie told me the new colonel had put her to the test, that he had pretended to be a spy.’
‘There was no test,’ said Anthony. ‘I am the spy. I am English. I have come for Agathé.’
The nun looked alarmed. ‘Sister Marie-Eugénie asked me to take care of Agathé.’
‘Sister Marie-Eugénie told me to come to you,’ said Anthony. ‘I want to take Agathé back to England. Will you let me?’
Sister Angelica put her hand to her mouth. ‘I can’t,’ she whispered. ‘The Germans told us to keep the child safe. If anything happens to her, we will all suffer. I cannot let you take her.’
This was awkward. Anthony thought for a few moments. ‘Have the Germans taken a keen interest in Agathé?’
She shook her head blankly. ‘No, Monsieur.’
‘Do the Germans know how many little girls of Agathé’s age you have here?’
Again, the nun shook her head.
‘Could you pretend another child is Agathé?’ he asked. ‘It’s a deception, yes, but an innocent one.’
She frowned at him. ‘It’s possible,’ she said slowly.
‘The cause is good,’ urged Anthony. ‘Please let me take her.’
The nun studied his face once more and, to his relief, nodded slowly. ‘How will you get away?’ she asked simply.
‘If you can take me to where the cars are parked, I can escape. But, Sister, we need to hurry. I haven’t got much time.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Come with me,’ she said and, still holding the little girl by the hand, looked out of the kitchen door, turned and beckoned to him to follow.
‘Do you know why the Germans are so interested in Agathé?’ he asked as they walked along the hallway.
‘No, Monsieur. I only know there is a mystery about the child. Sister Marie-Eugénie kept her very close.’
‘She’s nice,’ piped up Milly. ‘Sister Marie-Eugénie is nice.’ Those were the first words she’d said.
Although anxious to get on, Anthony stopped and went down on one knee, so he was at eye-level with Milly. ‘Sister Marie-Eugénie wants me to look after you,’ he said. ‘Will you be a good girl? Will you come with me and do what I ask?’
She regarded him solemnly, then nodded. ‘All right. You’re nice, too.’
‘And what name do you like best?’ He really did want to know what he should call her. ‘Milly or Agathé?’
She put her head on one side. ‘Agathé, of course. Agathé’s a saint. She’s important.’
‘You’re quite right,’ said Anthony, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. ‘Agathé it is.’
After the events of the past couple of hours, Anthony expected to be challenged on the way to the cars, but they reached the back of the house without seeing anyone.
Almost as equally incredible, the old stable yard, where two cars were parked, was deserted.
The Price of Silence Page 21