Once inside he left the gate open behind him for a speedy exit should he need one and crept forward into the stable yard. Glancing across at the kitchen door, he could see that it was still closed. Of course, someone might already be inside the house, but he decided to check the coach house and stables first. Pistol in hand he stepped silently across the yard and peeped in through the stable door. He could see no one, but he could hear someone moving about up in the loft. Pierre’s loft. Had Pierre returned from St Etienne? He was about to call out when he saw some feet beginning to descend the ladder, feet in heavy army boots. He stepped back outside and stood ready, covering the stable door with his gun.
As he heard the man, whoever he was, move towards the door he cocked the gun and said, ‘I have you covered. Come out very slowly or I’ll shoot.’
The footsteps stopped for a moment and then a familiar voice said, ‘You’d better not shoot me, Georges, Maman would be most upset.’
Georges, still holding the pistol extended in front of him, couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Marcel?’ he said. ‘Marcel? Is that you?’
‘Better believe it, brother,’ came the cheerful voice. ‘Promise not to shoot if I come out?’
‘Just come out where I can see you.’ Even though he recognised his younger brother’s voice, his typical insouciance, Georges still kept the door covered with his gun.
Marcel emerged, a smile on his face, his hands up in mock surrender. ‘Surprise!’ he said.
Georges was indeed surprised; after all, they’d thought him dead. The surprise was greater as Marcel was dressed in a National Guard’s uniform. He stuck his pistol back in his belt and the brothers grinned at each other before they clasped hands and embraced.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘When did you get back?’
They both spoke at once and then laughed.
‘You first,’ said Georges.
‘Can’t get into the house without breaking in,’ Marcel said. ‘So I’m dossing down in the stables. The family’s in St Etienne, I suppose.’ He turned back inside and Georges followed him.
‘They are now,’ he said, ‘but the most awful thing’s happened and I’ve been trying to find any news.’
‘What?’ asked Marcel sharply. ‘What’s happened?’
Quickly Georges told him about Hélène and poor Marie-Jeanne.
‘And Hélène’s still missing?’ asked Marcel.
‘I think so. I haven’t heard from our parents that they’ve found her.’ Georges stared at him. ‘And let’s face it, Marcel, she’s been missing for a couple of weeks now. She’s not going to be found. I’ve put out feelers in the city, but have heard nothing of her or of any child who might have been her. If it was kidnap, the kidnappers would have been in touch by now asking for money. I think we have to accept that she’s almost certainly dead.’
‘I’ve been back a while now,’ Marcel admitted. ‘I’m in the National Guard,’ he looked down at his uniform as if surprised to see it, ‘I can ask about. We hear things in the city. We’re the eyes and ears of the Commune.’
‘But why?’ asked Georges, wanting the answer to this question. ‘Why are you with the National Guard and not back with your regiment?’
Marcel made no answer to that but said, ‘I see you’re in civvies, so I could ask you the same.’
‘Couple of days’ leave,’ Georges said. ‘Compassionate, to look for Hélène.’
He wasn’t quite sure why he had prevaricated, lied, except that despite their reunion, Marcel, wearing the uniform of a National Guard, was now on the opposite side of the divide.
Marcel looked at him speculatively. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘I won’t ask you any more, except to say that I suppose I’m classed as a deserter and I’d prefer you didn’t mention seeing me or turn me in.’
‘Turn you in?’ Georges shook his head. ‘You’re my brother!’ He shook his head in confusion and went on, ‘I should, I suppose, but you’re one of hundreds, so what does one more matter? But why? Why have you deserted to the National Guard?’
‘Sedan. Camp of Misery. The whole bloody war. You must agree that the conduct of the war was a complete disaster and our generals were utterly useless! I’m fighting for the average man now, not some elite who sacrifice men from the safety of castle walls!’
‘Were you at the camp too? After Sedan? I looked for you, but it was hopeless.’
‘That’s what I mean,’ returned Marcel.
‘But what about our parents? You must tell them you’re alive and well. Maman’s been desperate about you, mourning you as dead.’
‘But I sent them a note to say I was alive, just not able to come home yet!’
‘They never got it,’ Georges said. ‘Where did you send it?’
‘St Etienne, of course. I never dreamed that they’d come back into Paris so soon.’
‘No,’ agreed Georges with a sigh, ‘neither did I. And they shouldn’t have, but at least they’ve gone again now.’
They had been sitting comfortably on straw bales in the stable but at length Marcel stood up. ‘Better go,’ he said. ‘Be careful, Georges. We’re on the lookout for people like you.’
Georges nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Do your best to find out what happened to her,’ he said earnestly. ‘The people you’re with are more likely to hear of something like an abduction than I am.’
Marcel gave a rueful smile. ‘You’re probably right,’ he said. ‘I’ll put the word about. How shall I reach you if I hear anything?’
‘I’ll come back here… soon. If you have any news leave me a note in the stable. I’ll do the same. If there’s any possibility she’s still alive we must find her. She’s only eleven, she’ll never survive on her own out there.’
The two men parted. Each going his separate way, each keeping his own secrets; neither prepared to ask questions of the other to which they didn’t want to know the answers, neither with any real hope now of finding their little sister. But at least in that they were both on the same side.
22
As soon as the door clanged behind her, Hélène knew she should have run. The nun led her and Madame Sauze to a small, dreary waiting room furnished with a table, two upright chairs and a sagging sofa, and saying Reverend Mother would be with them shortly she left them there to wait.
When they were alone they sat down on opposite sides of the table. Hélène looked across at Madame Sauze with wide frightened eyes. ‘Please don’t leave me here, madame,’ she pleaded. ‘I don’t like it here. I want to go home.’
‘I know you do,’ replied Agathe, ‘and you shall just as soon as I can find your parents, I promise.’ What else could she say?
It was nearly ten minutes before the door opened and Reverend Mother came in. She was a large woman, seeming taller and broader in her black habit, a girdle knotted about her ample waist and the starched white wimple standing on her head like the wings of a bird. She had a narrow face and close-set eyes above a sharp beak of a nose. She paused just inside the door, casting an assessing gaze over her visitors before stepping forward to meet them.
Madame Sauze stood up at once and performing a sort of half-curtsy, said, ‘Good morning, Mother.’
‘Ah, Madame Sauze, is it not? A blessed morning to you,’ replied the nun. She looked across at Hélène who had remained seated and said, ‘Stand up, child! Have you no manners?’
Reluctantly Hélène stood up, but looking down at her feet, said nothing.
Reverend Mother turned back to Madame Sauze and asked, ‘Who is this girl? And why have you brought her to me?’
‘This is Hélène St Clair,’ Madame Sauze replied. ‘Father Thomas found her collapsed, alone in the church. Her family are not in the city just now and she needs a place to live. Father Lenoir asks that you take her in for a few weeks until we can contact her parents and they can come for her.’
Reverend Mother eyed Hélène with disfavour. ‘She doesn’t seem the sort of child we should be giving a home to,’ sh
e said. ‘Our home is for destitute children, we cannot give shelter and food to children who have simply been lost by their parents.’
‘Father Lenoir suggests that when her parents come to fetch her, he’s sure they will be more than happy to defray any costs you might have had to meet in caring for her.’
The nun’s eyes flashed briefly, but then she said, ‘But what happens if they don’t come? What happens if they never come?’
‘Then,’ replied Madame Sauze with some spirit, ‘she will be just the sort of child you care for, because she will be destitute!’
Reverend Mother pursed her lips and looking at Hélène, said, ‘Well, child, what have you to say for yourself?’
Hélène looked across at Madame Sauze, a mute entreaty in her eyes, but Agathe Sauze looked away and Hélène murmured a soft, ‘Nothing, Mother.’
‘Just as well,’ said the nun. ‘Well, girl, I have decided that you may come and live here, just while Madame Sauze and Father Lenoir find your family.’ She said it as if she were conferring a great favour. ‘But you will have to work for your keep, as we all do.’
Hélène glowered at her, hating her in her black habit and flyaway hat. ‘I don’t want to come and live here,’ she said defiantly, ‘I want to go home!’
‘Well, as you haven’t got a home to go to, you should be grateful for the one I’m offering you,’ retorted the nun. Then turning to Madame Sauze, she said, ‘It’s time for you to leave, madame. Sister Gabrielle will show you out. I will take care of this child from now.’ She reached out and gripped Hélène’s wrist, her fingers biting into her flesh. ‘And you, girl, will come with me.’
She jerked hard and forced Hélène to follow her to the door. She opened it and nun and child disappeared into the orphanage. The last Agathe Sauze saw of Hélène St Clair was an agonised white face, turned back towards her, an expression of mingled misery, fear and betrayal. Then she was gone.
The portress, Sister Gabrielle, came into the room and took her to the front door.
‘Don’t worry about that girl, madame,’ she said. ‘Reverend Mother’ll soon lick her into shape.’
And that, thought Agathe as she walked slowly back to the Clergy House, was exactly what she was afraid of.
It was also exactly what Reverend Mother was doing. She took Hélène into her office and made her stand in the corner facing the wall, with her hands on her head, for almost half an hour before she spoke to her again.
‘Now, Hélène,’ she said at last, ‘I am going to speak to you as a sensible girl. Come and stand here in front of me.’
Hélène lowered her hands with relief and moved in front of the large desk behind which the nun had seated herself.
‘Here at St Luke’s we have very definite rules. Rules which everyone obeys without question, one of which is that you don’t answer back when spoken to.’ She fixed Hélène with an unwavering stare, as if daring her to break that rule now. ‘You obey an instruction at once and without comment or argument. Children who break these rules are severely dealt with, so that they remember not to do so again. I hope you understand that, Hélène.’ And when Hélène did not answer she picked up a small cane from the top of her desk and switched it against the wood. ‘Do you?’
Hélène nodded.
‘When I address you, you answer “Yes, Mother”.’ Reverend Mother raised her eyebrows. ‘Do you understand me, Hélène?’
Hélène swallowed hard and managed to say, ‘Yes, Mother.’
‘Good,’ said the nun briskly and rang the small brass bell that stood on her desk. Immediately there was a knock at the door and another nun appeared.
‘This is Sister Marguerite,’ said Reverend Mother. ‘She will take you now and show you where you will eat, sleep and work. Go with her and I want to see no more of you.’
Sister Marguerite led Hélène out of the room and along a passage to a heavy wooden door at the end. ‘This is the way to your part of the house,’ she said. ‘You will not come back through this door unless you are sent for. Do you understand?’
Hélène murmured a quiet, ‘Yes, Sister.’
‘Good girl.’ Sister Marguerite opened the door and they stepped through to the orphanage; to a new life, if it could be called life.
The first thing Hélène noticed was the smell. It was unpleasantly strong, a mixture of cabbage, damp laundry and something she had yet to recognise. She followed the nun along another corridor and up some stairs. ‘The dormitories are up here,’ Sister Marguerite said, as she led the way into a long, narrow room. Down each brown-painted wall were iron bedsteads, fifteen of them. Each bed had a thin straw mattress, with a grey blanket folded on a stool at its foot. There were no sheets and no pillows.
‘This is the girls’ dormitory,’ said Sister Marguerite. ‘The boys sleep on the next floor. That’s your bed,’ she said, pointing to the one nearest the door.
‘Why hasn’t it got a blanket?’ asked Hélène.
‘It was Ella’s bed. She died yesterday,’ the sister explained casually. ‘Her blanket was used as her shroud. I’ll find you another one.’ Hélène shrank back from Ella’s bed in horror, and Sister Marguerite said, ‘Don’t be so stupid, girl. People die in beds all the time. Now then, we all work hard here, we earn our food and shelter, so it’s time to do your share.’
The rest of Hélène’s day passed in a haze. Sister Marguerite took her down to the big kitchen where all the food for the orphanage and the convent was prepared. Here she was presented to Sister Barbara as a replacement for the deceased Ella, and set to peel a bucket of potatoes. Hélène had seen Arlette peel potatoes in the kitchen at home, but she hadn’t realised what hard work it could be. The potatoes in the bucket seemed never-ending and before long her hands were red and raw from the cold water and scraping with the blunt knife.
‘Hurry up, girl,’ called Sister Barbara. ‘Anyone would think you’d never peeled a potato before!’
The midday meal, consisting of a watery soup with some unidentifiable pieces of meat floating about in it, a hunk of bread and a small square of hard yellow cheese, was served in the refectory with the sisters. It was eaten in silence while one of the novices, wearing a grey habit and a much smaller wimple, stood at a lectern and read from the Bible.
As she drank her soup and ate the bread and cheese, Hélène had a chance to look round at the community of which she was now a part. The nuns sat at tables at one end of the room, with Reverend Mother seated at the middle of a high table set up on a dais. The children were seated, twelve to a table, at the lower end of the room. The girls were all dressed in drab grey dresses, their hair tied back off their faces with scraps of grey fabric; the few boys wore smocks and baggy trousers. Their faces, pale and peaky, showed the lines of the hard and tiring life they had to live. She noticed the way they all drank their soup, never putting the bowl down before they had finished every last drop; how they tore at their bread, sometimes dipping it in the soup to soften it; how they crammed the morsel of cheese into their mouths as if it might vanish before they had a chance to taste it. Hélène made the mistake of leaving the last of her bread on the table while she lifted her soup bowl with both hands. Even as she went to pick it up again, it disappeared into the mouth of the girl sitting next to her.
‘Hey!’ Hélène cried, and for a moment the clatter of the refectory ceased as everyone looked to see who had had the temerity to speak, to cry out, breaking the mealtime silence. Her face flooding crimson, Hélène stared fixedly at the table and after a moment the clatter of the dining room resumed.
When Reverend Mother had said grace at the end of the meal, she paused beside her chair to say, ‘Sister Barbara, please discipline the child who disturbed our meal.’
Back in the kitchen, Sister Barbara took hold of Hélène and shook her, hard. ‘Stupid!’ she cried. ‘Stupid girl. Eat your food and stay silent! It’s your first day and already you cause a nuisance. Another time and swish! You will feel my willows.’ She glowered at Hélène and sai
d, ‘You understand, stupid girl?’
‘Yes, Sister,’ Hélène replied, guessing what Sister Barbara’s ‘willows’ might be and not wanting to feel them. Glancing round the scullery where they were washing the dishes, she saw the bread thief, grinning as she scrubbed a saucepan.
I’ll remember your face, Hélène thought fiercely. I won’t forget you.
All the time they worked in the kitchen, they worked in silence, only whispering asides to each other when Sister Barbara and her junior, Sister Alice, were out of earshot. One of the girls who had been sitting near Hélène at table gave her a sympathetic grin. She pointed to the bread thief and murmured, ‘That’s Annette.’
Supper was similar to the midday meal, but lacking the cheese. The kitchen was then cleared and cleaned, after which all the children were assembled in the chapel for evening prayer before bed.
Back in the dormitory, Hélène saw her assigned bed was as she’d seen it before. There was no blanket laid out for her, just a coarse cotton nightdress folded across the stool. She watched as the other girls visited the toilet at the far end of the landing and when Annette took her turn, Hélène went swiftly to the other girl’s bed and, observed by the startled eyes of those already in bed, she snatched up the blanket and took it. Wrapping it round her she lay down on her bed, dead Ella’s bed, and pretended to be asleep.
Moments later there was a kerfuffle when Annette returned and discovered she had no blanket. There were whispers and giggles, and then a sudden silence when Sister Marguerite came into the dormitory. She saw Annette sitting on her bed, dressed in her nightdress, but with no blanket to cover her. Glancing round the room she saw every other girl had one, including the new girl in Ella’s bed. Sister Marguerite realised that she had not found a blanket as she’d promised and the girl had taken things into her own hands and stolen Annette’s. She should take her to task for it, but she couldn’t risk another row at this time of night. Mother would blame her as much as the child. She’d known that new girl was going to cause trouble from the moment she’d fetched her from Mother’s office. It was the way she met your eyes when you spoke to her; there was no humility there.
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