Welcome Home

by Margaret Dickinson

  Swiftly, as she had practised so many times, Beth packed the wireless back into its suitcase, pushed it into the hole in the wall and replaced the bricks. She glanced out of the window space again. There was still time to pick up a handful of dust from the floor and spread it over the brickwork so that the hiding place was not easily noticeable. Then she pulled the bales of hay into place and picked up the besom from the corner and whisked it backwards and forwards across the floor, moving to the door as she did so. Flinging the brush into the far corner, she left the shack, squeezed through the hole in the hedge and ran down the slope. Now she was out of sight of the searching soldiers. She slowed her pace. Taking deep breaths, she told herself: Act normally. They’ll glance into the shack but you’ve left no trace that anyone’s been there. She looked around her; where was the farm sheepdog who’d followed her up the field? There he was, happily sniffing the hedgerows.

  ‘Jasper,’ she called. ‘Here, boy.’

  She whistled shrilly and the dog looked up, his tongue lolling, then he bounded towards her. She patted his head and pulled gently on his silky ears. ‘Now, boy,’ she whispered. ‘You’ve got to look after me. Let’s play, eh?’

  She pulled the ball, chewed with constant wear, that she always carried from her pocket. Jasper gave an excited bark, but she was no longer afraid of the soldiers finding her; in fact, the sound might draw them away from searching in the barn too thoroughly. She threw the ball as far as she could and Jasper raced after it. She laughed aloud and clapped her hands, but out of the corner of her eyes she saw the first soldiers pushing their way through the hedge.

  The ball firmly gripped in his strong teeth, the dog was racing back to her to drop it at her feet. Panting heavily, he looked up at her with his soft brown eyes as the soldiers came towards her, pointing their guns at her.

  Jasper bared his teeth and growled and one of the soldiers levelled his gun towards the dog.

  ‘No, no, don’t. Please don’t. He won’t hurt you.’

  She put her hand on the dog’s head and soothed him. The animal looked up at her and she was sure there was a question in his eyes. ‘It’s all right, boy,’ she murmured.

  ‘Raus,’ the nearest soldier to her said and gestured with the barrel of his gun that she should walk up the field. Beth shrugged, but, deliberately, she turned to her right and began to walk to the gate at the far side of the grass field and away from the barn.

  ‘This way,’ another soldier said gruffly in poor French. Beth turned her winning smile on him and said slowly, ‘This is the quickest way back to the farmyard.’ And without waiting for him to argue, she set off with Jasper trotting obediently at her side, though her shoulders were tense with fear. At any moment she expected to be shot in the back.

  When she arrived in the yard, she avoided meeting Raoul’s anxious glance and, smiling, she went straight towards Kurt. ‘Hello, Major Hartmann. Have you come for supplies?’

  Kurt did not return her smile. Instead, he said abruptly. ‘Get into the car, Fräulein, if you please.’

  Beth feigned puzzlement, although now she had guessed why he was here.

  She shrugged and did as he asked. He climbed into the back seat beside her and his driver started up the engine. She had no time even to say goodbye to Raoul and Marthe. The only one to utter a sound was Jasper, who barked frantically and struggled to chase after the car as it swung out of the gate and roared up the lane. But Raoul held onto him. He knew that the soldiers would not hesitate to shoot his dog.

  ‘It’s all right, boy,’ he murmured, but in his heart he knew it was anything but ‘all right’.

  He went into the farmhouse to find his wife waiting for him, tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks, her apron to her eyes. ‘What will happen to her?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Raoul said flatly, ‘but I fear the worst if – if they torture her. I don’t think she’ll hold out.’ They stared at each other until Marthe whispered hoarsely, ‘What about Emile? Can we warn him?’

  ‘Antoine,’ he corrected her gently. ‘And yes, you’re right. Somehow, we must get word to him.’

  ‘But how? You have no idea where he is, have you?’

  Raoul shook his head.

  ‘And don’t trust that lot in the village,’ Marthe said, with sudden strength in her tone. ‘I think it’s one of them that’s said something to the Germans about Leonie. We’ll just have to wait until Em— I mean Antoine – comes here again.’ It was hard for a mother to rename her only son.

  ‘But he’s only just been here – last night – with the message that she was to send this morning.’

  ‘Do you think she got it sent before they found her? It doesn’t look as if they found the wireless.’

  ‘We can only hope she got through, because if she did, there should be a drop in a couple of nights and a Lysander to pick up two airmen.’

  ‘And do you know where that is to be?’

  Again Raoul shook his head. ‘They change it each time. But I might hear the planes coming and I can go out and look.’

  Fear shot across Marthe’s eyes, but she said nothing. She would not stop Raoul going out after curfew if it was to warn her son, even though she feared for them both. They were all in this fight together and whatever it took, she would help them rid her beloved France of the invaders.

  Twenty-Nine

  Kurt took her to the town, where the Germans had established their headquarters for the area. Through his shop doorway, Henri Lafarge saw the vehicles roar up to the building across the street and his heart constricted. He still had no idea what had happened to his son. It had been four weeks now since Julien’s arrest and he’d heard nothing. Henri believed his son had been taken somewhere else, though where, he didn’t know. The soldiers who still came into his shop to buy bread and cakes, when there were any, were pleasant enough and he and his wife had never been questioned. He wondered if Julien, whose codename was Edouard, had been so badly treated that he had broken down under interrogation and had betrayed Leonie.

  Henri shuddered. He hoped not; he wouldn’t want to think his son had done such a thing, however badly beaten he had been. His mind shied away from imagining what Julien might be suffering. He was amazed that he and his wife had not been arrested too. Apparently, the Germans didn’t think to suspect the polite, helpful man they saw most days when buying bread! And yet they knew full well he was Julien’s father.

  The man stood in his shop doorway. The window, smashed on the night of Julien’s arrest, had been boarded up. Henri could no longer display his wares in the window. Not that there was very much to put on show nowadays, he thought morosely. Then he saw Rob cycling down the street and he stepped back into the shadows of his shop, hoping that the agent was not paying him a visit. But Rob leaned his bicycle against the wall, just as Beth had done so many times, and stepped into the shop.

  ‘Bonjour, Monsieur. A loaf, if you please.’

  Henri stepped behind his counter, picked up a loaf and then leaned towards Rob. ‘She’s been arrested.’

  Rob, sorting out some change from his pocket, stopped and slowly looked up to meet the other man’s gaze. ‘Who?’

  ‘The girl who used to come to see you. Leonie.’

  The colour drained from Rob’s face. ‘When?’

  ‘Major Hartmann brought her in about an hour ago.’

  Rob was thoughtful for a moment, his mind working quickly.

  ‘I’m going to cycle out to the farm. Perhaps Monsieur Détange will be able to tell me more.’

  ‘You won’t get back before the curfew.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me. I may stay at the farm or try to get word to Antoine.’

  ‘How much does she know? Many people?’

  Rob shook his head. ‘Only you and me and Antoine and, of course, the Détanges, where she’s staying, but she doesn’t know where Antoine is hiding out. He deliberately always visits the farm.’

  ‘But she knows all the messages she’s sent – map references and such
.’

  Rob sighed. ‘True.’ There was despair and defeat in his tone. He could see the whole circuit, which had been so carefully built up and which had lasted a surprisingly long time in occupied territory, being torn apart with men – and women – being arrested, tortured and possibly shot. He glanced out of the window. Only the sentry posted at the entrance to the building opposite was about. Now was a good time for him to leave whilst there was no doubt great excitement inside that they had a suspect to interrogate. Poor Beth.

  Rob handed over the money and picked up the loaf. ‘Thank you, Monsieur. I will not come back here again. You are already in danger because of your son’s arrest and even more so now, I think.’ As he turned to leave, he murmured, ‘Bonne chance.’

  ‘You’ve brought the girl?’

  Two Gestapo officers had arrived from Paris the previous day and had demanded that any suspects in the area should be rounded up for questioning. Beth’s name had been suggested – though not by Kurt – and so he had had no choice but to arrest her.

  Heinrich Schulze, the senior Gestapo officer, narrowed his pale eyes behind his rimless spectacles. He was a small, thin man with a gaunt face and a cruel mouth. ‘And the farmer and his wife? You should have brought them too.’

  Kurt said nothing.

  Schulze shrugged. ‘No matter – for the moment. No doubt she will implicate them under interrogation.’

  Kurt frowned and said, ‘I’m sure she is innocent. She is only a young girl – nothing more than a schoolgirl.’

  ‘I shall be the judge of that, Hartmann. We shall soon know when she is interrogated.’

  Kurt hesitated. He wanted to say more, to try to convince the Gestapo officer that they should go easy on the girl.

  ‘I have watched her closely for months, whenever we have collected supplies from the farm. And we have searched the farm on two separate occasions and found nothing.’

  Schulze’s eyes narrowed. ‘But you have still not located the place where someone is transmitting – despite, as you say, having searched that area. You will search again, Major Hartmann, whilst we have the girl, and more thoroughly – much more thoroughly.’

  Kurt was far from happy. He had been obeying orders in bringing Leonie to their headquarters, but he had hoped that he would be the one to question her and that, after a brief interview, he could return her to the farm. But now that Schulze had taken over, he was afraid for the girl. The Gestapo officer was known for his brutality. He got results, certainly, but his methods were inhuman. Kurt wished fervently that there was some way in which he could help Leonie, but he felt powerless. But then, surprisingly, Schulze gave him an opening.

  ‘Search the farm again and let the old man know that if he cooperates – if he tells you all he knows – it will go better for the girl.’

  Kurt left the man’s office, eager to return to the farm in the hope that he could find something out that would mean Leonie was innocent. He didn’t believe – didn’t want to believe – that Leonie could be his enemy. True, over the past few months since he had made the suggestion, she hadn’t passed any useful information to him, but that could be because she really didn’t know anything. Kurt clung to that hope as he got back in the car and instructed his driver to take him back to the farm. Behind him, the lorry, laden once more with armed soldiers, followed him.

  ‘Bring her to my office,’ Schulze instructed one of his cohorts. ‘We’ll see if she’s as innocent as Hartmann would like to think.’ The older man had seen the look in Kurt’s eyes when he was pleading the girl’s cause and guessed that the young officer had formed some sort of attachment to her. He sighed. It happened in wartime, of course, when the occupying forces lived amongst the local community, but it was not something he condoned, though he had heard that in some countries German soldiers had been actively encouraged to consort with suitable young women.

  Beth was ushered into the office and made to stand in front of the desk. She looked very afraid and, this time, it was not all an act. The man in front of her was everyone’s picture of a tough, ruthless Gestapo officer.

  ‘Name?’ he snapped.

  Over the next few minutes, Beth answered his questions about herself, telling him the cover story that had been learned and rehearsed so well and played out every day. Mentally, she crossed her fingers, hoping that Raoul and Marthe would remember what they were supposed to say. They, too, had rehearsed often during the time that Beth had been with them for she was sure that at some point they would be questioned. They had all prepared for this day, hoping it would never happen and yet being ready for it if and when it did. And now it was happening – at least to Beth.

  Schulze leaned his elbows on his desk and linked his fingers, staring at her with cold eyes. ‘I expect,’ he said slowly, ‘that all this nonsense you have told me is your cover story. You have been well trained by your superiors in London, I grant you that. Major Buckmaster, is it not, who is charge of F Section?’

  Beth stared at him, hoping her surprise at his knowledge did not show on her face. She frowned. Had someone talked? Had he tortured someone from another group to give him such information? Unless, of course, Julien . . .

  ‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’

  ‘I think you do. Did you train in Scotland too?’

  ‘I didn’t “train” anywhere. I came here to my uncle’s farm when my home was bombed and my parents were killed. I told you.’

  The man smiled thinly and without any humour reaching his eyes, which remained cold and hard. ‘So you did,’ he said sarcastically. And then his smile faded. ‘But now you had better start telling me the truth. Let’s start with their son – Emile Détange. Where is he?’

  Beth shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I haven’t seen him since I arrived. He’s away fighting in the war.’

  ‘And on which side do you suppose he is fighting, eh?’

  Beth blinked. This was one question she had not foreseen, but she decided to state the obvious. ‘For the Free French, I would think, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘You mean he’s in England?’

  ‘We don’t know where he is.’

  ‘You would do better to answer my questions, girl. I have no wish to hurt you but, if I have to, I will.’

  ‘Hurt me?’ Beth decided to play the little girl act. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I want the truth.’

  ‘I have told you the truth, I came from Boulogne-Billancourt—’ she began again.

  ‘Yes, yes, I know all that, but I don’t believe you. I think you are a British Agent dropped by parachute. Have you been carrying messages on your bicycle? Because I know you have been cycling around the countryside, into the village and, occasionally, into the town.

  ‘Only to fetch something for my uncle or aunt.’

  ‘And why would your aunt want you to buy bread from the baker across the street? Doesn’t a farmer’s wife always bake her own bread?’

  ‘Not when all her flour and yeast have been’ – Beth licked her lips, knowing she was being very daring, knowing she might be making the man even more incensed – ‘taken.’

  His face darkened and a muscle in his temple throbbed visibly, but he could not deny that the farmer’s foodstuffs had been raided by his own men. It took a lot to feed all the men in this area and they took freely from the locals and especially from the farms.

  There was a long silence in the room and then, with ominous quiet, Schulze said, ‘Since you will not co-operate, Krueger here’ – he gestured towards a sharp-featured man in Gestapo uniform – ‘will have to persuade you . . .’

  Thirty

  When Raoul saw the car sweep in through the gate again, his heart lifted in relief only to plummet again when he saw that Beth was not in the car. Then the lorry turned in at the gate, halted and the armed soldiers spilled once more into his yard and began yet another search. Watching from the kitchen window, Raoul squeezed his wife’s arm gently and whispered. ‘Remember the story, Marthe, and her name is Leonie. Her lif
e might depend upon us.’ Then he left the house and went out into the yard.

  ‘Major Hartmann,’ Raoul asked, ‘what exactly is it you hope to find?’

  ‘A wireless set or perhaps British airmen waiting to be picked up.’

  Raoul waved his arm encompassing his house and buildings. ‘Then search away to your heart’s content. You will find nothing and no one here.’ Luckily, at the moment, it was true, unless, of course, they decided to search the fields and came across the derelict barn.

  Kurt moved closer. ‘Schulze is interrogating Leonie. You know what that means, don’t you?’

  Raoul shook his head sorrowfully.

  ‘He – he’ – even Kurt shuddered at the thought of what might, already, be happening to her – ‘is a brutal man. Oh, he doesn’t do the dirty work himself – he has his minions to do that – but he will order her to be – to be persuaded to talk.’

  ‘But there is nothing Leonie’ – deliberately, Raoul used her name, more to remind himself than anything else; he prayed silently that Marthe would be strong enough, that fear would not let her forget the cover story – ‘can tell you.’

  Kurt stepped closer to him, so close that Raoul could feel the man’s breath on his face.

  ‘But what about you, Monsieur? If you tell me the truth, it will go easier – a lot easier – for the girl. In fact, I may be able to get her released immediately.’

  For one brief, dangerous moment, Raoul hesitated. But he was careful to keep his face blank. Nothing of the turmoil inside his mind showed on his face. He was terrified for Beth. He had become very fond of the pretty, laughing girl, but he knew that if he were to utter one word of the truth, all their lives would be in danger. Marthe’s, Emile’s, his own and countless others who worked in the resistance group, to say nothing of the two airmen waiting to be picked up if Beth had managed to send the message. Fortunately, this time they had not come to the farm but were in hiding somewhere with Emile. And, Raoul told himself, Beth had volunteered for this dangerous work. She had known full well what to expect and had done it all the same. He was filled with admiration for her bravery and yet he was also very afraid. But he, too, summoned up his courage as he faced Major Hartmann.