by Lily Baxter
‘Lotte?’ Valentine’s voice shattered Elsie’s reverie and she came back to earth with a jolt.
‘I’m sorry, Aunt Valentine. What did you say?’
‘I was telling you both that you must remember that we are an occupied country. The Germans are everywhere, and although we don’t see very much of them in the village that doesn’t mean that we can act and do as we please. If anyone is suspected of spying they’re arrested and imprisoned; many have been executed by firing squads.’
‘We will be careful,’ Marianne said hastily. ‘We’ve been trained well, and we won’t make stupid mistakes.’
Valentine turned her head to give Elsie a searching look. ‘You do understand, don’t you?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Elsie nodded emphatically. ‘Might I have a little more stew?’
After supper Valentine showed them up to the fourth floor. She paused at the foot of a narrow staircase. ‘The top floor is where the servants were housed in the old days. Hendrick used to sleep there but he finds the stairs a bit of a trial, and he has a room on the ground floor close to the kitchen.’ She walked on. ‘These two rooms at the front of the house are yours. They overlook the station and the railway sidings, giving you an excellent view of the troop trains. They stop here to take on water, giving you time to make a note of the numbers of soldiers, horses and cannons on board. The code we use is quite simple. The soldiers are dried peas, the horses are potatoes and guns are cabbages. You will find pen and ink in your rooms and you make the lists on tissue paper.’
‘What happens to them then?’ Elsie asked.
‘They are rolled up and inserted into hollowed-out broom handles, and once a week Hendrick takes them to the agent. You don’t need to know any more than that.’ Valentine opened the first door. ‘You may choose which room you prefer. The bathroom is at the end of the passage.’ A smile curved her thin lips. ‘Don’t look so surprised, Lotte. My late husband was very particular about keeping up to date with things like indoor plumbing. We are one of the few houses in the village to have hot and cold running water. It is one luxury that so far has not been taken away from us. Now, I’ll say goodnight and leave you to settle in.’ She walked slowly towards the staircase.
Marianne took a quick look in both rooms, and having tested the beds she made her choice. ‘I’ll take this one. It’s nearest to the bathroom and the mattress is a little less lumpy than the one in your room.’
Elsie went to the window and looked out. ‘Are you sure you want to do the night watch, Marianne? I don’t mind doing it if you’re tired.’
Marianne threw herself down on the bed and stretched out. ‘Actually, I am a bit sleepy. Would you mind awfully?’
‘Of course not. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t think I could stay awake. I’m not sure I could sleep anyway. It’s all so strange and new.’
‘You’ve got too much imagination for your own good, darling.’ Marianne closed her eyes. ‘I could sleep on a bed of nails.’
‘I’m going to my room to unpack.’
‘I’m just going to fish my nightie out of my case and then I’m going to bed,’ Marianne said, yawning. ‘I’ll do the rest in the morning. Night night.’
Elsie went next door to her room. It was identical in size and shape and furnished simply with a single bed, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. A desk and chair set beneath the window were obviously intended for the person keeping watch, and she was already beginning to regret her offer.
The room was filling with shadows as the daylight faded into dusk, and by the time she had unpacked her case and put her clothes away it was almost dark, but she could not light a candle for fear of someone spotting her at the window. What had seemed like an easy task was beginning to feel like an uphill struggle as tiredness threatened to overwhelm her.
She opened the window and sat down to wait for the first train to rumble into the station. An hour passed and she was beginning to nod off when the silence was shattered by the sound of an approaching steam engine. She was suddenly wide awake, and her heart was pounding as she sat with the pen poised. The train drew to a noisy halt with screeching brakes and a burst of steam, followed by the banging of carriage doors and the rumble of male voices. It was obvious that the Germans paid little heed to the fact that their activities might wake the sleeping population. Lights blazed and Elsie worked frantically, noting down the numbers on a small sheet of flimsy paper, taking care to put it in code as Valentine had instructed.
Eventually the train pulled out and there was silence again, but not for long, as another one followed in quick succession, and then a third. Elsie was beginning to lose concentration and her eyes were sore. She wondered how many troop trains would pass through that night, and whether she would be able to cope with such a long vigil, but then all was quiet again. She was cramped and rose from her seat, pacing the room in an attempt to keep awake. The bed with its snowy coverlet looked more and more inviting, and she was tempted to lie down and rest her weary body. She went to sit in front of the window, taking deep breaths of the cool night air. The smell of soot and hot engine oil still lingered, but there was no sign of movement on the platforms. She rested her chin on her cupped hands, focusing her eyes on the starry sky. It was eerily quiet. And then, in the early hours of the morning, she heard what sounded like footsteps on the floor above. She was suddenly wide awake and alert. She stiffened, straining her ears, thinking it must have been the old wood contracting in the cool of the night, or perhaps she had drifted off to sleep and had been dreaming.
Then it came again. The sound of someone pacing the floor overhead was unmistakeable. The house might have its ghosts but this one wore boots. She stuffed her hand into her mouth to prevent herself from crying out and leapt to her feet. She ran to the door and wrenched it open. The footsteps were even louder, and directly overhead. Whoever it was seemed to be heading for the stairs. She was about to rush into Marianne’s room and wake her up when the sounds stopped, and once again the house echoed with silence. She stood in the doorway, trembling from head to foot. She was overwrought and exhausted. Perhaps it was her imagination. She closed the door softly, turning the key in the lock before returning to her position at the desk. Now she was wide awake. She sat very still, stiff and upright as she waited and listened, but all she could hear was the thudding of her own heart.
‘Why on earth did you lock your door?’ Marianne demanded when Elsie rose stiffly from her seat at the desk to let her in next morning. ‘Did you think the bogeyman was coming to get you? Or maybe a couple of German storm troopers.’
‘That’s not funny,’ Elsie said wearily.
Marianne took her by the shoulders, staring into her face with a worried frown. ‘Are you all right, darling? You look terrible.’
‘Someone is up there in the attic,’ Elsie said breathlessly. ‘I heard them moving about last night. I didn’t know what to do.’
‘I knew I should have taken the night shift. You were overtired and imagining things. Valentine would hardly be roaming round her attic rooms in the small hours, and poor old Hendrick can hardly get from the kitchen to the dining room, so I don’t think it was him.’
Elsie shook her head. ‘I know what I heard, Marianne. Someone heavy-footed was pacing the floor. I’m surprised you didn’t hear anything.’
‘I was out for the count.’ Marianne moved to the desk and picked up Elsie’s notes. ‘No wonder you were hearing things. You had a busy night.’
‘There were three troop trains close together, and then a big gap before they started up again just before dawn.’
‘Well, it’s my turn now. Have a wash and get some breakfast before you go to bed. I’ll take over in my room, and then perhaps we’ll split the night shifts. It’s too much for one person to do twelve hours at a stretch.’
Elsie nodded tiredly. ‘I’m all in, but I suppose I’d better eat something.’ She made her way to the bathroom. After splashing cold water on her face and cleaning her teeth, she went downstai
rs to the dining room.
Valentine was seated at the table, reading a newspaper and drinking coffee. ‘Sit down and have some breakfast, Lotte.’ She picked up a silver coffeepot and filled a cup, passing it to Elsie. ‘This is real coffee. Heaven knows when I’ll be able to get more, but I intend to enjoy it while I can.’
Elsie sat down and took a sip. She would have much preferred a nice cup of tea, but she did not want to offend Valentine. ‘Delicious,’ she said politely.
‘How did you get on last night?’
‘I managed, but I was very tired.’
‘Of course you were, but you’ll find it gets easier as you go along. The information we gather might seem trivial to us, but it goes back to London, and apparently they make good use of it.’
Elsie helped herself to a slice of bread and a sliver of cheese. ‘I may have been imagining it, but in the middle of the night I thought I heard someone moving about in the attic.’
Valentine paused with her cup halfway to her lips. She shook her head. ‘No one goes up there these days. It was probably bats flying in and out. I believe there are some panes of glass missing, so that would account for how they got in.’
Elsie accepted this without comment. She had the feeling that Valentine was keeping something from her, but she was too tired to pursue the matter further. She finished her meal. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Aunt Valentine, I’ll go to my room.’
‘You’ll feel better when you have had some sleep, my dear. And don’t worry about anything you might hear coming from the attics. This is a very old house and the timbers expand in the day and contract at night, making all sorts of odd noises. I suppose I’m used to it and take no notice.’
Still unconvinced, Elsie shared the watch that night with Marianne, but there were no strange sounds to distract her and she began to think she must have been mistaken. Perhaps it had been simply the creaks and groans of old timbers, or even bats flying around as Valentine had suggested, but she could not quite suppress the doubts that niggled at the back of her mind.
Their first few weeks in the Merchant’s House passed uneventfully, and their task became routine. The days were long and the nights seemed even longer. Splitting their shifts was less exhausting, but then boredom began to set in. Elsie would have liked to do much more than merely keep a tally of troop movements, and she was beginning to feel like a prisoner, but she did not complain. Marianne had no such scruples and she made her feelings clear.
Eventually, and somewhat unwillingly, Valentine allowed them to go into the village, one at a time, and only when accompanied by herself or Hendrick. These forays to the local market made a welcome break from keeping a constant watch on the movement of troops and munitions, but Elsie was uncomfortably aware that they were the object of much speculation. Valentine’s friends and acquaintances seemed eager to meet her nieces from Brussels. ‘They are just nosey,’ she said, steering Elsie away from a group of women who had stopped haggling over the price of potatoes on a farmer’s stall to wave and beckon to them. ‘Move on quickly, Lotte.’ She smiled and nodded at the village priest who was heading towards them. ‘Good day, Father. You must excuse us if we don’t stop to chat. I’ve left Hendrick watching over the oven and his memory isn’t what it was. If we don’t hurry back I’m afraid the bread will be burnt to ashes.’
The priest came to a sudden halt, staring at Elsie with a downturn at the corners of his mouth. ‘I was hoping to meet your nieces, Valentine. I was expecting to see you all in church.’
Valentine placed herself squarely between them. ‘You know me, Father. I attend as and when the mood takes me. I talk to God in my own way and on my own time.’
He shook a finger at her. ‘God loves us all, Valentine. But perhaps a little more effort on your part would set a good example to the young ladies.’ He peered over Valentine’s shoulder and beamed at Elsie.
She smiled vaguely and tugged at Valentine’s sleeve. ‘The bread, Aunt. Perhaps we should hurry?’
‘The bread!’ Valentine uttered a shriek and grabbed Elsie by the hand. ‘Goodbye, Father. I will attend mass one of these days.’ She hurried off in the direction of the Merchant’s House, slowing down when she spotted a group of German soldiers who were standing outside the inn, smoking cigarettes and chatting. ‘Ignore them,’ she hissed. ‘Walk past but never look them in the eye. We don’t consort with the enemy.’
There was a momentary lull in the soldiers’ conversation and Elsie sensed that they were watching them closely. She hurried past but one of them called out and she glanced over her shoulder. He smiled and winked at her and she looked away, blushing. ‘I can see now why you don’t want us to go out alone,’ she said breathlessly.
Valentine shot her a sideways glance. ‘These men are far from their homes and families. We are forced to tolerate their presence, but we have as little to do with them as possible.’
‘Why are they in the village? Why aren’t they fighting the war in France?’
‘They’re here to remind us that we are an occupied country, and that we must obey their rules or suffer the consequences.’ Valentine walked on, coming to a sudden halt at the top of the lane which led to the river. ‘The big house on the riverbank is where the doctor lives. Hopefully you will never need his services, but it’s useful to know your way around. Now we must hurry home. You need to catch up on your sleep.’
Elsie gazed longingly at the river. The sun reflected off its surface in pools of molten gold, and she had a sudden longing to feel the cool, silky caress of the water on her bare skin, but going for a swim was out of the question. She had work to do. The newspapers had been filled with accounts of the fighting on the Somme, and that made the task that she and Marianne had taken on seem even more important than before. She followed Valentine back to the house. This was to be her life until the end of the hostilities. She could only hope and pray that the war would end soon.
That evening Marianne was suffering from a severe headache and Elsie offered to take both shifts. ‘It’s probably the heat,’ she said sympathetically. ‘And you’ve been stuck indoors for a whole week. At least I had a breath of fresh air this morning when we went to market.’
Marianne sank down on her bed. ‘Are you sure, Elsie? It’s such a long night, especially when it’s so damned hot.’
‘I’ll be fine. You get some rest and try to sleep.’
Marianne lay back and closed her eyes. ‘Valentine gave me some herbal concoction she’d brewed, and it’s beginning to have an effect.’
Elsie left her and went to her own room. She took up her position at the window, staring out at the now familiar view of the station and the railway sidings. She knew every inch of the platform and the iron rails that carried the locomotives and their rolling stock. She was familiar with the faces of all the station workers, and the drivers of the roaring monsters that thundered along the tracks belching smoke and steam. The most difficult part of the whole procedure was keeping awake, especially in the small hours when all she wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep. She kept alert by drinking copious cups of ersatz coffee. Valentine’s supply of real beans had run out, and now they were compelled to drink a bitter brew made from ground acorns. She found herself longing even more for a cup of tea, and she dreamed of bacon and eggs served with little triangles of fried bread, or a plate of bangers and mash with thick brown onion gravy. It was odd, she thought, gazing out of the window at nothing in particular, that the things she missed most were not the luxury meals she had eaten in posh London restaurants, or the delicacies that Mrs Beale had cooked with such expertise. It was the treats from a fondly remembered childhood that she missed the most. Money had always been in short supply, but sometimes the cook at the manor house had allowed Ma to bring home the leftovers from the servants’ meals. It was better, Ma had always said, than feeding good wholesome food to the pigs. On those occasions they had gone to bed with full stomachs. She chose to forget the many occasions when she had lain down to sleep with her belly gro
wling with hunger.
She laid out the thin sheets of paper, pen and ink. Dusk was falling fast and soon it would be dark. The lights in the station only came on for the arrival of each train and went out again at its departure. They would enable her to see well enough to make the necessary notes, but in the meantime it was too dark to read or sew or do anything other than sit and think. She stood up and stretched, taking deep breaths of the rose-scented night air as yet untainted by soot and smoke. There was just time, she thought, to go down to the kitchen and heat up some coffee. Valentine always left a pot on the range, which retained its heat well into the night, and there would be bread and cheese in the larder in case she felt peckish. Valentine was a generous and considerate hostess, and Hendrick might appear surly, but he often left a punnet of blackberries on the kitchen table, or some peaches that he had obtained somewhere on his travels when he delivered the intelligence to their agent.
Elsie felt her way down the stairs, treading softly so that she did not disturb Marianne or Valentine, whose room was on the first floor. She had expected the kitchen to be in darkness, but when she opened the door she was met by flickering candlelight. For a second or two she thought it was Hendrick who sat at the kitchen table, hunched over a plate of food, but it was a stranger in mud-spattered British army uniform who leapt to his feet. His eyes were dark hollows in a gaunt unshaven face, and he backed away from her.
Chapter Thirteen
‘WHO ARE YOU?’ Her voice shook but she stood her ground.
He swallowed, wiping his lips on the back of his hand. ‘Don’t scream. I won’t hurt you.’