He greeted me genially in a silvery voice and offered us drinks before we all settled into a grouping of mismatched chairs positioned near the hearth. The furniture was shabby and not altogether comfortable. I suspected it wasn’t original to the house, and I couldn’t help but notice the empty spaces on the walls, and along the mantel and shelves where items had previously hung.
“The villa was requisitioned by the Germans, along with much of the furnishings,” Monsieur Chauvin explained, noticing my inquisitive scrutiny. “And what wasn’t taken during the war, was pillaged during their retreat.” He seemed very accepting of the matter, but then, maybe this wasn’t his property.
“But you have not come to talk about the Germans’ ravages, I think.” Monsieur Dewé crossed one long leg over the other as he sat tall in his creaky ladder-back chair. “What can we do for you?”
I briefly outlined the events and discoveries that had led me to seek them out, starting with Madame Zozza’s sham séance and progressing to our meeting with Captain Landau that morning. Both men listened attentively, though they each seemed to process my words in a different way. Monsieur Dewé interrupted me from time to time, and by the nature of his questions I could tell he was attempting to neatly organize the data as if in little rows. Had I forgotten, this method would have reminded me the man had been a high-ranking administrative engineer before the war, and perhaps was once again. In contrast, Monsieur Chauvin gazed out the open window across from him, his eyes narrowed contemplatively, and his mouth clamped around an unlit pipe. Whether he’d elected not to light it out of deference to me or because he’d become accustomed to doing without during the years of deprivation, I didn’t know. But Sidney and Alec felt no qualms about smoking cigarettes as I relayed my tale.
When it was done, Chauvin’s gaze shifted to peer at his colleague, nodding as if giving him permission for something.
Dewé sighed before turning to me to clarify. “So you are here out of concern for the operative you knew as the code name Emilie, one Rose Moreau? You wish to verify she is safe and perhaps warn her?”
“Yes, I suppose that’s the most succinct way to put it. Captain Landau said she refused to give him her new address. Do you know where she is? Has she gone into hiding?”
The two Belgians glanced at each other again. “That is the troubling thing, Madame. For we do not have an address for her either. At least, not one that is any good.”
I sat taller. “What do you mean?”
“We sent her a message some weeks back to the address she had given us, but the letter came back unopened. And when we sent a young courier to investigate, her neighbors told him no one had lived there for some time. Not since the start of the war.”
My eyes widened in shock and I looked toward Sidney, who had lowered his cigarette as if equally dumbfounded. “Then . . . none of you have been in contact with her since Captain Landau interviewed her some months ago?”
“I’m afraid not, Madame.” A tiny furrow formed between Dewé’s eyes. “And you are correct. It is concerning.”
“So, it seems she has gone into hiding.” I frowned. “Unless you think her new neighbors could be lying?”
He shook his head. “I do not think so, Madame. Our man reported that the home was in bad repair. It was obvious no one had lived there for quite some time. So unless some sort of harm befell her upon her arrival, I think they are as ignorant as we are.”
I nodded, trusting his word. Monsieur Dewé was a thorough man. The coming of peace had not changed that, nor had it dimmed the responsibility he evidently still felt for the agents who had been under his command.
“What of her home village?” Sidney suggested, stubbing out his fag. “Could she have decided to remain there after all?”
“We had the same thought,” Dewé replied. “But they could not tell us her direction either.”
“Why did she choose to move away from her home in the first place?” I pressed. “Do you know?” We had heard the excuse she had given Landau, but I wondered if she had told these gentlemen something more.
“It is not so very uncommon,” Chauvin murmured in his gentle voice. “There have been others who have chosen to relocate, finding the task of rebuilding too overwhelming. But . . . I think Madame Moreau was burdened by more than that.”
Dewé stroked the scrubby beard on his chin. “We were forced to find a new courier to replace her during the last few months of the war when she informed us through her company’s letter box that she feared she was being watched. She said she even suspected her home had been searched twice while she was away. Though thankfully there was nothing for them to find.” He dipped his head. “As I’m sure you can appreciate, we took all such matters seriously. Even though we’d never met Madame Moreau in person until after the war, we’d been aware of her activities. We’d read her reports and knew of her tireless devotion to her courier duties. So we trusted she knew of what she was speaking.”
“Her keen instincts saved me more than once,” I admitted, wholeheartedly agreeing with their assessment of her. “If she thought she was being watched, then she likely was. But did you ask her about it after the war?”
Dewé began to shake his head, but then Chauvin spoke up.
“I did. Or rather I made a passing remark about it. All she said was that the Secret Police were rather dogged fellows, and something about how if they could have arrested her, they would have.”
I wasn’t certain how to take this remark, and it was clear from the quizzical light in his eyes that neither did Chauvin. Had Madame Moreau meant they would have loved to have found evidence to arrest her? Or, perhaps more intriguing, had there been something that prevented the Germans from doing so? Could she have held leverage over the Germans, or rather the officers of the Secret Police in that district? Maybe because of something she’d learned pursuing her midwife duties.
“Perhaps whoever was watching her wasn’t the Secret Police?” Alec suddenly interjected from where he relaxed into the saggy cushions of his chair. His eyes being at half-mast, I’d wondered if he was partially asleep until he spoke. “Perhaps it was someone else?”
“But who?” I retorted, struggling to keep my irritation from my voice.
He shrugged, as always keeping most of his thoughts to himself and only speaking up to stir the pot, so to speak. I’m not sure how I’d forgotten that about him. It was all well and good to examine something from every angle, and Alec was good at asking the questions that were not so obvious. But he rarely posited any answers to those questions, merely left you festering with frustration at the implications they raised.
Then I noticed the way the two chiefs of La Dame Blanche were looking at him, with guardedness and displeasure. I wondered if perhaps Alec was subtly trying to imply something else, something these two men did not take kindly to. It appeared Sidney had a similar notion, and less qualms about asking it.
“Could it have been someone from La Dame Blanche?” His face crinkled in puzzlement, softening the sting of such a question. “Maybe that’s why she gave you a false address. Maybe she’s still . . . wary.”
“It’s possible,” Monsieur Dewé admitted. “Though unlikely. Each sector was kept as separate and isolated as possible from the others so that if one platoon or company should be compromised, the others could still operate without risk of discovery. Madame Moreau was part of a platoon made up exclusively of couriers. As such, she mostly collected reports from each of the other three platoons’ letter boxes and transported them to the company letter box, adding in her own reports when she had intelligence to share. She knew who the head of her platoon was and perhaps one or two of the other couriers, but otherwise she would have been relatively isolated from the other members. And all our agents were forbidden to try to uncover the names of other agents.”
“But you forget the special work Madame Moreau undertook for me.” I sat forward, tucking my hair behind my ear. “She mostly operated as a guide, but in doing so, from time to time
, she happened to encounter some of your other agents. She was not often privy to the information I discussed with those agents, but she was in the nearby vicinity.”
“True. But in that case, you would know better than us who these people were and whether they raise any concerns.”
I sighed, worry and frustration tightening my voice. “I have been circling around and around every moment I spent with her; every time we happened upon another person; every moment of unease in our surroundings. And yet I cannot figure out why a medium would pretend to summon her and ask me to unearth her secrets.”
The two Belgians gazed back at me in sympathy, but it was clear they had no real answers for me. I turned away to stare out the nearest window at the glittering ribbon of the river. A barge slipped past, weighted down by coal.
At the touch of a hand on my arm, I glanced up into Sidney’s eyes. Their deep blue depths shimmered with sympathy. He squeezed my elbow in a show of solidarity before picking up the questioning himself.
“What of these threats Xavier and Landau mentioned? They said several of your members had received them. Could they be from a German loyalist who was angered by the outcome of the war?”
Dewé’s expression turned grim. “Perhaps. It is true there is a great deal of unhappiness in Belgium and elsewhere. Many are unemployed, food is still scarce, and the government is struggling to manage it all, particularly without the funds needed to rebuild. But most people properly blame the Germans for our hardship. German loyalists are few.” He exhaled a heavy breath. “Even so, they are concerning. But not many have turned to outright violence. At least, not since the early days after the Germans’ retreat, before the Belgian Army could return to restore order.”
“One mostly hears of brawls between unemployed workers, and who can blame them.” Chauvin gestured with his pipe. “The country’s state of general chaos makes it ripe for such behavior. Especially when so many of our young men have differing experiences of the war. From the soldiers who spent over four years in the trenches, never able to return home to their families. To the people forced to live amongst the enemy, sometimes intimately with their soldiers billeted in their homes, never forgetting they were under the Germans’ thumb. To the thousands conscripted and deported to Germany, treated as no better than slave labor in their crumbling industries. It’s only a wonder things are not worse.”
Hearing all of this was disheartening. For it made it clear how all too easy it would be for a person to disappear, willingly or not, in the midst of such disorder. It was no wonder whoever was looking for Madame Moreau could not find her. In some ways this was reassuring, and yet, by no means a guarantee that they wouldn’t eventually. If anything, it only emphasized the difficulty of the task before me.
“All that being said, the threats have not overly concerned us.” Dewé held up a hand to stay us. “Do not mistake me. We are taking them seriously. But thus far no one has followed through on these threats or shown the least inclination to.”
“And you’ve received no word from Madame Moreau, so you could not know whether she has received any,” I summarized, still staring out at the water beyond, a memory tickling at the back of my brain.
“Actually, I think she has.”
We all glanced up at Chauvin in surprise, even Dewé.
“A few months ago, the man who was captain of our Chimay company mentioned that he had spoken with Madame Moreau,” he explained. “This was before she disappeared.”
“What did she say?” Dewé asked.
“She wanted to know the names of our agents in the Chimay area during the war.” His brow puckered. “She said she was concerned about potential reprisals and wished to warn them.”
“But the captain wasn’t completely convinced of this,” I guessed.
“He admitted that he had wondered if she wanted them for a different reason. If perhaps there was more to her interest than she claimed.”
Had she received threats of her own? Was she worried for her fellow agents? Or was it more a matter of suspicion? Perhaps she didn’t trust them.
Whatever the truth, I wished these men had more to tell us, but they knew no more than I did about Madame Moreau’s current location. All I’d been able to confirm is that she definitely seemed to be hiding, and I couldn’t imagine the strong, determined woman I had known doing so without very good reason. But the questions remained. Why? Because of the threats? And who had set me on her trail?
As if sensing my disappointment, Dewé spread his hands. “I’m sorry we could not be more helpful, Madame. But those in her old village may be able to tell you something we cannot.” His eyes sharpened, as if trying to impart something important. “If I were you, the village is where I would go next.”
I wasn’t certain what he was trying to convey, but it was clear he wanted me to visit Macon. It also hadn’t escaped my notice that he’d yet to call her village by name. I could only assume this was because of Alec.
Once again, I was puzzled by the reticence they displayed around the man. Even more so when Chauvin suddenly pushed up from his chair. “Madame Kent, I understand you have a great fondness for orchids. Come. I will show you my specimens before you go.”
“Oh, how lovely,” I replied, hastening to comply.
I listened attentively as he began to yammer on about crossbreeding and proper pollination, forbidding myself to look back, lest my enthusiasm prove unconvincing. We exited onto the back terrace and descended the steps to cross the lawn before I risked a glance behind me on the pretense of surveying the property.
Upon seeing we were well and truly alone, I interrupted him. “Enough of that. I have absolutely no interest in orchids or the mating rituals of honeybees, as doubtless you’re not surprised to learn.”
His eyes twinkled with humor.
“You have me alone. Now what did you wish to tell me?”
He opened the door to the greenhouse, allowing me to enter before him. Once inside, I could see several of the tables were indeed laden with orchids, and I moved closer to them, continuing our charade, at least in appearance.
“Dewé might disagree with me, but I believe you can be trusted. You certainly took enough risk upon yourself during the war on behalf of the Belgian people to earn it.” He leaned closer, reaching out to delicately finger one of the flower stems. “In one of Emilie’s . . . excuse me, Madame Moreau’s . . .” He sighed, shaking his head. “It is easier still to speak in code names after so many years of doing so.”
“Then do so.”
He nodded. “In one of Emilie’s last reports she made mention of a weapon the Germans were rumored to be developing. A wireless-controlled aeroplane. One both capable of flying the aircraft and dropping bombs on a target, all without need of a human pilot in the cockpit.”
I stilled, a trickle of unease sliding down my spine.
But Chauvin misunderstood my reaction. “I know. This sounds rather farfetched, no? But your HQ showed great interest and asked specifically for more information.”
Knowing much of what HQ had known, I didn’t find it so very farfetched. After all, Landau had learned from two German deserters who escaped into Holland, that the enemy had developed a wireless remote-control motorboat fitted with torpedoes and guided by a seaplane which flew overhead. A fact which was confirmed by the Secret Service agent stationed at Cadzand in Holland with a powerful telescope. The Germans’ base at Zeebrugge, Belgium, was only eleven kilometers distant from this point, so it was possible for him to observe much of the activity in that port.
There was no need to explain why these wireless torpedo boats would be so concerning to the British, and why action was taken immediately to counteract the new threat. How much more dangerous would a wireless-controlled aeroplane be, particularly if it could be maneuvered from a greater distance?
“What was she able to uncover?”
“Nothing.” He shrugged. “The German she learned it from was killed, and she had no other contact to ask.”
&nbs
p; “Was his death suspicious?” I asked, finding such a coincidence noteworthy, if not yet alarming.
“She did not say, and we did not ask. If so, there was naught she could do without drawing unwanted attention to herself.”
“But you mention it because it concerns you.”
It wasn’t a question, but he nodded anyway. “If Emilie is, indeed, in some sort of trouble. If she is hiding . . . this may be why.”
I turned to stroll deeper into the greenhouse, contemplating everything he’d told me. If the Germans had been developing such a weapon, and she had been able to obtain more information—be it in the form of reports and specifications, or simply the name and whereabouts of the inventor—then she could be in a delicate, if not dangerous situation. If such information were to fall into the wrong hands . . . I shuddered at the thought.
But then why hadn’t she come to these men for help? Did she not trust them? Or did she not trust them not to involve the British? Perhaps she feared the information even falling into the hands of supposed allies.
Or was it only one man?
I pivoted to look at Chauvin, finding him watching me, perhaps waiting for me to speak.
“Why are you and Monsieur Dewé wary of Captain Xavier? Why did you pull me aside to tell me about the wireless-controlled aeroplane?”
His eyes crinkled in approval, and I somehow felt I’d passed some test, for the tone of his voice gained a richer timbre than before. “You know of Captain Xavier’s work during the war?”
I nodded.
His gaze dropped to the table beside him as his fingers reached out to swipe away some speck of stray dirt. “He did such a good job fooling the Germans for so many years, walking amongst the enemy without suspicion. It is difficult to know if one can truly trust him.”
I understood what he was saying, for I had entertained similar thoughts about Alec. Even as I was forced to rely on him.
Treacherous Is the Night Page 18