Krista's Escape

by Gemma Jackson

  She washed her body and restored order to her appearance. When she had done as much as she could she rolled the supplies she used and hid them at the very back of the unit. She would purchase a bag to carry her purloined goods in. With a skip in her steps she prepared to explore the world around her. She doubted the other two would be awake for hours yet. Perhaps it was stupid of her to risk being left behind in a strange town but she could not sit and wait for them to wake. There was a whole new world to explore – for her at least.

  She ran down the wide staircase, not wanting to take the lift as they had the night before. She wanted to be out and about. She called a polite good morning to the night watchman who pulled open the door to the hotel at her approach. She stepped out into a wonderland. Dawn was only just bringing light to the sky but the world that opened before her was breathtakingly beautiful.

  She walked out into the centre of the square and simply stood.

  “Beautiful, is it not?” a voice said in Flemish.

  Krista turned to find an old man, heavy broad-head sweeping brush in hand, smiling at her.

  “Do you speak French?” she asked in French, mimicking Miss Andrews, a woman who spoke fluent French with the most dreadful British accent.

  “But of course,” the old man said. “Beautiful, is it not?” he said again in French.

  “I have never seen anything like it.”

  The square was made up of tall old buildings overshadowed by an enormous cathedral. Each building was of a different shape and colour.

  “You are standing in Grote Mart or Grand Market if you prefer,” the old man rested on his brush to say. “It is a mixture of sixteenth-century Renaissance and eighteenth-century Rococo.” He smiled broadly, displaying a mouth with very few teeth but the laughter in his eyes was charming. “Or so I am told.”

  “What is that called?” Krista pointed to the cathedral.

  “That is St. Rumbold’s Cathedral,” he told her with a proud expression. He stared at her for a moment before asking, “What is a young beauty such as you doing out and about all alone?”

  “I am hungry and thirsty.” Krista could see workers behind the glass of the restaurants on the ground floor of the many hotels. She dreaded to think how much it would cost to break her fast in one of those.

  “You should not be walking the streets alone.” The old man looked at her under beetling brows. “And it costs a small fortune to dine in one of those fancy places.” A jerk of his head in the direction of one of the many restaurants accompanied his words. “Do you wish to spend a fortune?”

  “I would prefer not to,” Krista said with a smile.

  “There is a café down that lane,” he said, pointing. “It is not very far along it. Tell the waiter that old Claus sent you. He will look after you, and your coffee and croissant will not break the Bank of England.” He chuckled.

  “Thank you.” Krista was grateful for the advice. She found the fancy restaurants intimidating. “I’ll enjoy the view of the square before taking your advice.” She began to walk away. “It was lovely speaking with you!” she called over her shoulder.

  The old man returned to his sweeping, shaking his head over the youth of today.

  “Miss, you asked to be notified when the King’s suite ordered breakfast.”

  Krista had returned to the hotel clutching a small pale-blue hardboard case. It was cheap but she thought it looked beautiful with its dark-blue leather corners and handle. She’d found the case and other emergency supplies like knickers in the side street the old man had pointed out. A large warehouse holding the market stalls that would be set out around the square had been open. She’d entered and the stallholders had been more than willing to sell her their goods. She’d had coffee and a croissant before returning to the hotel. She’d put the items from the bathroom into the case and now felt like a world traveller as she waited for her travelling companions to wake.

  “Thank you.” She grabbed her new case and hurried along to join the others.

  “Where have you been?” Gerhardt snapped as soon as he opened the suite door to Krista’s knock. “It would serve you right if we had gone away and left you here.”

  “You worried us, Krista,” Miss Andrews said from her place at the table. There was a generous spread of breakfast pastries on the table. The delicious smell of coffee permeated the suite. “Join us.” She gestured towards the table.

  “Thank you.” Krista took a seat at the table. The position gave her a bird’s-eye view over the square. “I’m sorry I worried you both but I couldn’t sit still and wait for you to wake.”

  “What have you there?” Gerhardt pointed at the blue case.

  “I bought myself a small case and some necessities.” She helped herself to coffee while he returned to his seat. He was once more wearing what she thought of as his ‘fat suit’. “I know from the auberge that people talk when you arrive somewhere without any luggage. I will need to seek work and a place to live when we reach our destination. I needed something of my own to take with me. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “We will be leaving as soon as we have broken our fast.” He ignored her comments. “Violet, have you any suggestions as to what we can do with the papers this young woman brought to us?” He could use those orders to prove his points to the people he hoped to speak with in England. He didn’t want to leave them behind if they could possibly take them with them safely.

  “If I might make a suggestion?” Krista hastily swallowed the croissant slathered with jam that she had just bitten into.

  “Speak!” Gerhardt snapped.

  “Miss Andrews, that hat you were wearing yesterday …” she paused for a moment, “are you going to wear it again today?”

  “Yes.” Gerhardt was the one to answer. “I know you dislike it, Violet, but it gives you the appearance of a flibbertigibbet and distracts the eye from your clever face.”

  “It would appear I will be wearing the dratted thing,” Violet sighed. “Why are you asking?”

  “There is a rip in the lining of that hat.” Krista continued to eat her second breakfast of the morning. “I played with it many times.” She wiped her lips with her napkin. “I bought a travelling sewing kit. We could put the papers into the crown of the hat and sew them inside. It’s a simple matter.”

  “What a clever idea!” Violet looked into smiling blue eyes that looked so much like those of her dear friend Constance when she was up to mischief. “I can coil my hair and use many hatpins to keep the thing in place. What say you, Bertram?” It was important to keep up the subterfuge.

  “Tend to that while we finish up here, Krista,” Gerhardt said. “I want to be on the road to Antwerp as soon as possible. We should catch the second tide.”

  Krista picked up her case and left the table to seek out the hat.

  “How shall we travel to England?” Violet leaned over the table to ask Gerhardt. “I have only my own papers on my person. I am presuming that we do not want to travel under our own names? Krista has no papers at all.”

  “I know many of the owners and captains of cargo vessels sailing out of Antwerp to Folkestone in England. I have used them to ship my wines. Then too I have the money to bribe one to look the other way as we board his vessel.” He had thought long and hard about how he would escape when it became necessary. As he knew it would.

  “Krista …”

  “Yes?” Krista appeared in the doorway of the bedroom.

  “You need to remember to address us as ‘Mother’ and ‘Father’.” Gerhardt pushed back his chair. “It is vital you make no mistakes after we leave this room.”

  “Yes, Father,” Krista almost blushed to address Herr Baron so familiarly but it was necessary. She could do this.

  “I’m going to the bathroom.” Violet desperately needed some time alone to gather her thoughts and prepare for the day ahead. “When you have finished with the hat, would you be so kind as to repack the items the maid removed from my suitcase, Krista?”

  �
�Yes, Mother.” Krista stepped back into the bedroom.

  “Don’t take too long, Violet.” Gerhardt wanted to get on the road as soon as possible. He wanted to be in Antwerp long before second tide. He had matters to arrange.

  Gerhardt stood in the middle of the sitting room of the suite, his eyes running over his two travelling companions. “Before I call a porter to remove our luggage, let us each examine the other. We must make sure we have everything we need with us. There will be no searching for last-minute items when we reach the docks. The car will be lifted onto the deck of the ship while we walk on. The wind on the water can freeze your bones so we must be well wrapped up – which is a blessing – much can be hidden under clothing.”

  “You need to remember to wear your gloves, Father.” Krista was wearing a Burberry trench-coat belonging to the Baron. She felt very much the world traveller in the coat that had become famous by being the garment of choice for the commanders in WWI. The coat would be knee-length on a man but reached almost to Krista’s shoes. Miss Andrews had placed a pretty silk scarf into the neck of the coat. She could pull that over her head when they were out in the fresh air.

  “From this moment on I am Bertram Standish,’ said Gerhardt. “Remember it. Bertram Standish, an Englishman travelling with his wife Ann and daughter Christine. It is vital we make no mistakes.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Certainly, Bertram.”

  “Ann, do you have enough hatpins in place to hold that hat onto your head even in gale-force winds?” he asked.

  “The hat is practically cemented in place and I have a scarf to pull over it when we take to the sea,” Violet pulled a silk headscarf from the pocket of her full-length mink coat.

  “Then we appear to be ready to face the world. From the moment we leave this room we must be aware of everything going on around us, while giving the impression of travellers eager to reach their home port. It is imperative we reach England safely.”

  “What are your thoughts, Violet?” Gerhardt asked as they motored along towards Antwerp.

  “We must head towards London.” Violet had been giving a great deal of thought to the matter of help. “I think the best option for me is to travel to the headquarters of the Association of Wrens. There will be women there very much aware of what is going on in the world. It would be best if I visit for the first time alone. I can feel out the situation before asking for advice. What do you think?”

  “I have friends of many years in London.” Gerhardt too had been planning the best way to approach his uneasy situation. He would be seen as a traitor to his country. Nothing could be further from the truth. He loved his country. Had always been proud of being German. Now he felt lost, cast adrift with no clear idea of his final destination.

  He checked the roads around him carefully. They were busy here as they approached the port of Antwerp. “I will take a room at my London club.”

  Krista listened to them, wondering what would happen to her when they reached England. She had never been far from the Auberge du Village in Metz. What was to become of her? She remained silent, waiting to see what the day would bring. Whatever it was, it was better than anything the Dumas family and Maurice La Flandre had planned for her.

  Chapter 8

  Krista was afraid to blink her eyes, afraid she might miss something. She could spend weeks here enjoying this unfamiliar landscape. So many people, such hustle and bustle. How was anything achieved in the chaos she was watching? She was barely aware of the man ushering them towards the first-class waiting room set behind a waist-high barrier on the dock of Antwerp.

  There were so many ships tied up at the docks. Where did they all sail to? How wonderful it would be to be a sailor and choose to sail the world’s oceans! How would it feel to wake up knowing you were travelling to a far-flung destination in a strange world new to you? The very thought of such adventure stole her breath.

  She refused to enter the waiting room with her travelling companions. She couldn’t bear to be locked away from the wonderful sights, sounds and smells around her. She stood on the walkway behind the barrier, her eyes almost burning as she tried to take in all there was to see.

  She watched families clutching what appeared to be their worldly belongings being herded into a barnlike building further down the dock. The people seemed uniformly dressed in dark clothing, with worry etched into the parents’ grey faces. Those people were not travelling for pleasure.

  She held her breath as a horse in an open wooden box that looked somewhat like a stable stall was lifted into the air from the dockside and slowly moved through the air towards a nearby ship. The poor animal. She wouldn’t like to be lifted in such a fashion. The apparatus holding it in the air looked like a giant slingshot to her eyes. Would the car be lifted in such a fashion? She followed the animal’s flight with her heart in her mouth. There were men on the deck of the ship, obviously waiting to take delivery of the animal. They had best be careful. If she had been forced to travel in such a fashion, she would exit that box with her fists clenched ready to fight. That horse had deadly hooves to kick out with. She released the breath she had not been aware of holding when the animal landed safely on the deck of the ship.

  Her attention was drawn to a man who strode the docks like a colossus. He stood head and shoulders over every other man around him. His shoulders in the navy double-breasted jacket he wore seemed to fill her vision. He had a peaked hat pulled down over an explosion of red hair and his beard was thick and full. He was stopped frequently by men clutching papers while she watched fascinated.

  She narrowed her eyes and stared at one of the men following in the footsteps of the colossus. Did he look familiar? Where had she seen him before?

  “Christine, what on earth are you doing standing out here?”

  Money changed hands as Gerhardt tipped the man who had carried their hand luggage and shown them to the waiting room. “There is a fire in the waiting room. Go inside. You’ll catch your death standing out here.” Gerhardt ignored their guide who walked away whistling, pushing the generous tip into his trouser pocket.

  “Father, I am fine. I couldn’t sit down and wait if you forced me.” Krista felt weak at the knees. She had just remembered where she had seen the man on the dock who had attracted her attention. “There is so much to see.”

  “You will have a better view from the deck of our ship.” Gerhardt wanted to mop his brow. He was nervous. They were so close to escape. He wanted to be on board ship and sailing away from this place. He would not feel safe even when he set foot on British soil but he’d feel a damn sight safer with the sea between him and those who sought him.

  “That man –” Krista pointed.

  “It is rude to point, child.” Gerhardt put his gloved hand over hers and lowered the pointing finger.

  “Sorry, Father, but does that man not look like the drawings of Sinbad the Sailor?” She was careful to remain in character. She had been warned that their every word and movement could be under scrutiny. She put her arm through Gerhardt’s, feeling daring – but surely a fond daughter would do something similar? She had no experience to draw upon.

  Gerhardt stiffened at her unexpected familiarity. “That is the harbour master. A fine man.”

  “The man following behind him . . .” Krista almost buried her head in his chest as she spoke softly. “The one wearing the dark-brown suit with the light-brown shirt.” She waited until he looked down at her. “I believe I have seen him many times before – he has been a guest at the Auberge du Village … in the company of Monsieur Beaumont.”

  Gerhardt put his arm around her shoulder and led her into the waiting room. They were too exposed outside, in plain view of anyone on the dock who cared to look in their direction. He stepped further into the room before releasing Krista and turning to look out the window. He stared at the man Krista had pointed out.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “What is going on?” Violet hated to leave the warmth of the fir
e but she needed to know. She walked over to stand beside them.

  “That man in the brown suit snapping on the heels of that tall man, the harbour master,” Krista said softly, “has visited the auberge many times in the last year. He and Monsieur Beaumont dine together frequently when he visits.”

  “Do you know him, Bertram?” Violet squinted to bring the man more clearly into view.

  “I do not.” Gerhardt had no memory of the man.

  “Daring of him to state his affiliations so openly.” The brown shirts of the Nazi youth had become infamous. The man’s clothing was almost a perfect match for their uniform.

  “It gives those of us he hunts warning.” Gerhardt continued to take note of everything about the man.

  “He cannot be allowed to see us.” Violet shivered. “If he has indeed been a frequent visitor to the Auberge du Village in Metz he will know Krista by sight. And he may well have seen me in the village. I have a certain reputation as the eccentric Englishwoman.”

  The three stood in the shadows, watching the man as he sought the harbour master’s attention. They could do nothing but wait to see what would happen. Any sudden action on their part would draw too much attention to them.

  A rap of knuckles on the waiting-room door had each of them stiffening. The knock was followed by the door opening and a smiling weather-beaten face appearing in the opening.

  “Mr and Mrs Standish?” the man enquired.

  “I am Standish.” Gerhardt almost pulled his shoulders back but a sharp tap on his back from Krista stopped him. Her movement was hidden from the man in the doorway.