Hilde heard the pony-trap rolling up the manor’s curve of driveway, and went to meet her employer, who’d been away for three days and nights visiting an aunt of her husband’s, near Lille. She’d made the journey by train, and old Jeannot, groom and general handyman, had taken the trap to pick her up at the station in Bavay.
By the time Hilde had the door open and was out at the top of the stone steps, Jeannot had clambered out of the trap and was offering Madame a hand down.
‘Thank you, Jeannot.’
‘Such a pleasure to have you back with us, Madame.’
‘A pleasure to be back. Hilde, hello!’
‘Madame. Did you have an enjoyable stay?’
‘Oh – as always.’ Meaning, no great pleasure in it, but glad to have it done with again, especially with the children home next week for Christmas holidays. Glancing up then at the sound of aircraft – German fighters, a dozen of them, flying south. Albatrosses, she thought: with luck there might be only half a dozen returning later. She asked Hilde, who was accompanying her up the steps, Jeannot grunting and wheezing behind them with the luggage, ‘All well here? How’s your mother?’
‘Much the same, Madame. Doctor said – more or less – that if she lived the winter out – well, that I shouldn’t expect—’
‘You told me. Sunday, when I was leaving.’
‘Of course. It was on Saturday he came out to us.’
‘You will get her through the winter, Hilde. Also the spring, and please God the summer, too. You’ll see. We’ll all say prayers for her, and – oh, Lord, what’s this?’
German army motorvan – dark green. Soldier-driver and another of them in the front. It had swung in from the lane at a fairly reckless speed, scattering gravel and bumping over an edge of lawn as the driver dragged the wheel over. Jeannot, halfway up the steps with the two cases, paused to stare at it disapprovingly as it ground to a halt behind the trap. Elise telling him rather snappily, ‘Take those into the hall, then put the trap away. Hercule can go out to grass. Are the others out?’
‘Except for Mignonne, Madame. I thought perhaps you’d—’
‘I won’t have time. Put her out, too.’
‘I’d say there’s snow coming, Madame, so…’
‘So bring them in anyway before dark.’
The German driver had got out, was standing with his gloved hands on the van’s radiator, gawping at the house. The other one had come around the back of it and was starting up the steps, his head back as he looked from one to the other. He was a sergeant: had a Luger holstered on his hip. Sent here by Koch, Hilde thought, readying herself for the worst. She’d begun to allow herself to think she might not hear from him again; this was Wednesday now, and from what Otto had said the policeman would have been back on Monday, having gone to Brussels only for the weekend. Working weekend, consulting files or other secret policemen – Leutnant Bergen, for instance. She hadn’t seen Otto since Saturday, but then she often didn’t, for a few days at a time. He’d be there again at the château, surely. The thought occurred to her in much the same way that a swimmer finding herself in difficulties would look round for something to hang on to.
Although he’d have no authority. Koch had the authority. She stood clear of the front door, giving Jeannot room to lumber through with the heavy cases, and watched him dump them close to the foot of the staircase, straightening then with his hands massaging the region of his spine. As he turned, a grimace indicative of pain invited sympathy. Old fraud. Who’d take the cases on up from there? Well, she would. Or would have. Moving out on to the steps again she heard the sergeant confirm what she’d known in any case, telling Madame in crude, Germanic French, ‘My orders are to bring Fraulein Martens to the château. Orders of Major von Bodenschatz. If you please, Madame.’
Orders of Hauptmann Koch, Hilde thought. Technically perhaps on the authority of von Bodenschatz – the château’s commandant. Koch would as likely as not have a rubber stamp with von B’s signature on it. Elise de Semeillions got on well with him – the commandant; he was a grey-haired, lined-faced former cavalryman, now asthmatic and unfit for active service. But Koch, as Ketteler had said, was a law unto himself. The sergeant was glaring up at her, Madame gazing disdainfully at him; Hilde sensing both intuitively and logically that her situation was now actually dangerous. Otto had pleaded with her to take it seriously, because to start with she hadn’t: it had seemed to her to be no more than a new broom sweeping clean, that two years having passed since the Brussels business she had to be in the clear. It wasn’t like that now – at least she didn’t feel it was.
She started down. Madame demanding of the sergeant, ‘Tell me what this is about? I can assure you that Mademoiselle Martens can have done nothing illegal – and she works for me, is not available for any other—’
‘She has to come with us, that’s all. Quickly please, mam’selle!’
Hilde saw the driver go to the van’s rear doors and open one of them. Pausing close to Madame, she asked the German, ‘Are you arresting me? What for?’
‘Just get in the vehicle – and quick. Otherwise…’
Elise said quietly, ‘If they detain you for any length of time, Hilde, I’ll visit your mother and see she has all she needs. This evening – if you aren’t back by then. I’ll also contact Major von Bodenschatz – or try to.’ More loudly then – ‘Heavens, girl, you can’t go without a coat!’
‘No. Of course.’
Feeling stupid: everyone else in overcoats – needing them too, in this wind out of the northeast, cutting as a knife. She’d been unprepared, hadn’t been anything like ready for this. Turning back up the steps though, calling to the sergeant, ‘Just a moment. Have to fetch my coat…’
Except for the absence of Otto Ketteler, to start with it could have been a replay of last week’s interview. Same salon, Koch the same pale, oddly faceless individual. Behind the small eyes there had to be a brain, but with such a lack of expression the face could have been made of dough.
Treat him with respect, though. As advised by Otto, and because this definitely was not good now. That he’d found reason to interrogate her again, and that he’d sent soldiers and a van, as distinct from a request to call in on a certain day and time – the request relayed to her last time by Otto.
‘You were hoping to find Leutnant Ketteler waiting for you, fraulein?’
Because before sitting down she’d looked towards the back of the salon where last time Otto had placed himself. She nodded. ‘Since you feel the need of an interpreter – or did.’
‘This time I don’t. I believe you’ll find my French has improved almost miraculously.’ Slight smirk. ‘He’d be amazed. But in any case you must have been glad of his – what’s it called – moral support?’
‘Of course. A person one knows, when one does not know what one’s supposed to have done wrong…’
‘Whom one knows and with whom one goes off on picnics. Quite. I’ll tell you, though, I was glad of the opportunity to see the pair of you together.’
The implication being that that was why he’d pretended to need an interpreter. He’d had her fooled, all right. Otto, too. She held the deadpan stare. ‘So we did picnic – this last Saturday. Something criminal in that?’
‘More just interesting than criminal in itself. Planned it long in advance, had you?’
‘Hardly. Madame de Semeillions had given me the afternoon off, and on my way home I happened to run into the lieutenant, who—’
‘Do you have a physical relationship with him?’
‘No, I do not!’
‘I should have asked, did you have such a relationship. You won’t be seeing him again, you see. But tell me, without any of that, what satisfaction did either of you get out of your – er – association?’
‘As far as I’m concerned – if we really have to go into such an entirely personal matter – nothing out of the ordinary. He’s young, quite good-looking, can often be amusing—’
‘And confided in you? A military secret now and then?’
‘No! Nothing of the sort!’
Koch motionless, a seated statue, staring at her. She shook her head – astonishment now tinged with amusement. ‘I wouldn’t know a military secret if you rubbed my nose in it!’
‘I think perhaps you would. And have some way of passing it out to our enemies.’
‘But that’s simply ridiculous!’
‘Leutnant Ketteler is having similar questions put to him elsewhere, I may as well tell you. Who knows, he may even find it a relief to tell us. I’m sure he never set out to give away secret information.’
‘Certainly never gave me any!’
‘Is he in love with you?’
‘I have no reason to think so. He was attracted to me, sure, but—’
‘Did he try to persuade you into an intimate relationship?’
‘He was – flirtatious, certainly. But no, not really. The usual course of flirtation, that’s all. What I mean is, the suggestion was there – as it tends to be, I suppose.’
‘In any case, you’d never have consented…’
‘In the interests of being completely truthful, m’sieur, I can’t say I would never have. One enjoys flirtation, one’s human, and – as I said – he’s attractive enough, and amusing. If he’d really pressured me…’
‘You might have yielded?’
‘Might. The fact is I didn’t. It’s plain truth I’m giving you – the fact is I’ve done nothing wrong, and to the best of my knowledge and belief, nor has he!’
‘If you had, though, it would have been a way of cementing the liaison?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Making sure he didn’t lose interest – pick on some easier mark, perhaps, so you’d get no nuggets of information – across a pillow or—’
‘You’ve absolutely no grounds for any such—’
‘—or in a wood – after some foie gras and a bottle of hock, say?’
‘M’sieur. The only picnic lunch I have had with Leutnant Ketteler was the one on Saturday – about which you’ve evidently been informed – and at this time of year the forest is much too cold for the kind of activity you’re suggesting. It’s untrue, and you know it. Why you’d want to fabricate such slander…’
‘I want a basis – reason – for your close association with the leutnant. A reason I can believe, fraulein. Because I now know I’m not dealing with some innocent young girl who’s carried away by the heady delights of a little harmless flirtation. I know it – hear me? Tell me this – the leutnant did have some profound anxieties, did he not?’
Frowning: looking surprised again. ‘Not that I’m aware of.’ A shrug. ‘Not saying he hasn’t, but-he never mentioned any such thing to me.’
Except that on the picnic, all he’d really wanted had been for her to recall what he’d told her that night when he’d been sozzled. Arising from the fact that just a few days earlier – the last time she’d been here, in fact – she’d foolishly, unthinkingly, referred to something he’d said at that time.
And set his nerves on edge, she supposed.
She’d been delving in her memory. Gave up now. ‘No. Nothing he’s ever said, that I remember.’
Might he have told a colleague – in confidence – and the colleague gone running with it to this creature?
‘We’ll move on then.’ This after gazing at her intently and wordlessly for another ten or fifteen seconds. Reading her mind – or wanting to give the impression of doing so. Eyes down again now: pale, soft-looking fingers turning a page in a file. All that – about oneself? Or about Otto, too? Koch murmured, ‘Move back, I should have said – to events in Brussels, year before last.’
‘I didn’t even know of Leutnant Ketteler’s existence, then!’
‘No. We’re leaving him – for the moment. I’ll explain – in case you haven’t already grasped this… My interest in your association with him is that his duties in the château have included assisting in the organisation of high-level planning conferences. In a very junior capacity, of course, but – well, one conference in particular, last month, prior to my own arrival. See – my raison d’être is to ensure that we have adequate security at such times. In fact at all times, and by “adequate” I mean total. Well – in the case of a commissioned officer with a background such as Ketteler’s, there should be no such concerns at all – ordinarily would not be. But when it transpires that he has been enjoying a close liaison – amorous or otherwise – such as he has with you, that naturally comes under scrutiny. And if it’s then discovered that this person has earlier been under investigation through her association with a notorious spy, fraulein…’
‘If it’s Nurse Edith Cavell you’re referring to, she was never even accused of spying. Consult your own court records, m’sieur!’
‘She was not accused of it for the sole reason that no such charge could have been substantiated. But there were good grounds for suspicion. And certain other parties – with whom you were acquainted, incidentally.’
‘Such as?’
‘Do you deny acquaintance with a man by name of Quien? Georges Gaston Quien?’
‘Quien was – still is, I suppose – a Frenchman and a police spy working under the direction of a Leutnant Bergen – I suppose of your department. He somehow gained entry to the Berkendael and put his ear to doors, eye to keyholes, also tried to strike up acquaintance with some of the probationers and nurses. He and another Frenchman, name of – oh, Jeannes. Armand Jeannes. And I personally, may I tell you—’
‘Yes?’
She’d seen it coming, just seconds ago. If Koch had consulted that swine…
‘You were saying, fraulein?’
‘I was assaulted by Quien. An attempt at sexual assault. And yet at the interrogations to which I and others were subjected, after Madame had been arrested, that same creature—’
‘Quien gave evidence that you had danced naked in a Brussels nightclub – or boite – known as Boudoir Rose. You, fraulein, the innocent little probationer under the wing of the saintly Cavell woman!’
‘I have never in my life danced naked anywhere, m’sieur.’
‘With very few clothes on, then?’
‘I danced in a supposedly oriental costume that I was given. I did it because at the Institute we were paid next to nothing. I had to send money so my mother wouldn’t starve or freeze, and the only way to earn any – well, it had to be at night, we probationers worked from dawn to dusk – hard work, too—’
‘How did you happen to be taken on in that disreputable establishment?’
‘I asked at a café in that neighbourhood for a job as a waitress, and the man suggested, “Try the Boudoir Rose. Ask for Jacques Berceau.” I wouldn’t call his place disreputable: I was protected – by him and by other staff. I could have drinks with customers – this was encouraged – but if any of them tried anything he’d be chucked out on his ear. Does any of this relate to security here, m’sieur?’
‘Yes, it does. For one thing, wouldn’t you agree that a young woman who’s prepared to dance in public even half undressed could hardly be regarded as respectable?’
‘The question’s irrelevant, since I did not dance undressed, or half—’
‘Does Leutnant Ketteler know of it?’
‘As it happens – no.’
‘So you don’t exactly boast of it.’
She gestured wearily. ‘I’ve told you. It was the only way I could help my mother. I did not dance “half undressed”, and I may as well tell you, while we’re at it, it was a solo performance and I had no physical contact ever with any customer.’
‘How about with—’ consulting his notes – ‘Jacques Berceau?’
‘Not with him or anyone else! Oh – except for Quien’s assault on me. On my way back to the Berkendael, just around the corner from the Boudoir – he’d been lurking there, waiting for me. Luckily there were some others passing who heard me scream.’ There’d been a curfew in force; Quien might have reckoned on her not crying out. Koch hadn’t thought of the curfew-breaking – in any case hadn’t commented – and she finished quickly, ‘That tells you what your friend Quien’s like. Take his word for anything?’
‘One does have to accept his statement as it stands in police records, yes – the fact you danced deshabillée before an audience of men.’
‘To say I was deshabillée is a lie. It was an oriental costume, or supposed to be, and – if you want it plainly – no part of my body was exposed. I’d seen Quien oiling his way around at the Berkendael, and there he was with the rest of them, watching me dance – recognised me, of course, invited me to join him for a drink, and made an indecent proposition to me which I emphatically declined.’ She added, ‘And then, a month or so later—’
‘Ambushed you in the street, you say.’
‘Yes. And it’s the truth.’
‘But—’ pointing at her triumphantly, as if he thought he had her now – ‘after he saw you there the first time, and bought you a drink—’
‘I left the drink untouched!’
‘—did he not report you to your directrice?’
Quien had threatened her with that, told her that if she didn’t comply – make herself available to him – he’d go straight to Directrice Cavell.
Sweaty-faced, leaning close, mean little eyes alternately gazing into hers and trying to see into the top of her costume, cacophony of loud music and men’s voices reducing slightly as a singer appeared on stage; Quien hissed, ‘Directrice’d give you the order of the boot, eh?’
‘She would. All right – she will. Greatly preferable, I may say, to having anything further to do with you.’ She went directly from Quien to the gallery where Jacques Berceau was sitting with a party of friends. The girl was into her song, but the hell with that. ‘Maitre – excuse me. The pig I’ve just left – that one, there, at table twenty-three, that rat-faced object – trying to blackmail me. If I don’t play games with him he’ll go to Madame at the Institute – and I’m out on my ear, huh?’
Berceau got up. Mid-thirties, a heavy-weight with only one eye, having lost the other in a fight with knives in his student days; he wore a black patch over that one.
‘A customer we can do without, then. Know his name, by any chance?’
‘Yes. Quien. Frenchman. Hangs around the Institute, for some reason, that’s how he knows I work there.’
‘All right. I’ll settle his hash.’ Berceau started down from the gallery, but Quien had been watching, and skedaddled. Berceau watched him go, before coming back to Hilde and the others. ‘He won’t be let in here again, you can rest assured of that. But listen now – if they do throw you out, you can dance here six nights a week instead of three. Don’t know where you’d live, mind you.’
‘I’d get a room somewhere. Or go back to Taisnières, maybe. I don’t know. Thanks anyway – I appreciate the offer – and for getting rid of him.’
‘Stick to us real rough diamonds, chérie. Know where you are, with us.’
That was on a Tuesday. Her nights at the Boudoir were Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. She’d expected that if Quien was going to carry out his threat he’d do it right away. But Edith Cavell spoke to the probationers every evening in her sitting-room, expanding on religious matters as well as medical/nursing ones, and neither on the Wednesday nor the Thursday was there any change in her famously ‘reserved’ manner. Haughty, some called it, but actually it was shy, self-effacing and deeply thoughtful – less ‘reserved’ than ‘restrained’. Those who knew her best and worked closest to her – Nurse Wilkins being the prime example – practically worshipped her. Even the probationers – those worth a damn… They were a very mixed batch, in terms of social background. Dr Antoine Depage – the rather overbearing surgeon who’d founded the Institute and engaged Edith Cavell as directrice, his aim being to provide Belgian doctors with well-trained nurses as distinct from nuns who tended to be ignorant, and lay-nurses with no concept of hygiene – had put emphasis on recruiting educated girls, but Edith had found the educated daughters of well-off Belgians to be pleasure-loving and idle, with little or no sense of duty. She had several of those. Hence, for instance, her ready acceptance of Hilde, to whom in her report to the Institute’s Council she’d attributed ‘a naturally quick intelligence as well as capacity for hard work and a great desire to better herself’. And Pauline Randall, daughter of a circus man, who’d been brought along at the age of thirteen by the chaplain of the English church in Brussels; and Grace Jemmet, who as a result of treatment she’d received for an illness of long duration had become a morphine addict. Edith had taken Grace’s problems on to her own shoulders, treated her like a daughter.
But neither Pauline nor Grace would have danced half-naked in any nightclub. They were decent, good-hearted girls, but – Hilde thought to herself – nobody would have asked them to dance anywhere, poor things, dressed or undressed. On the Friday evening, she was wickedly entertaining this thought – probably smiling a little to herself – as Madame closed a medical text-book and told them, ‘Enough for this evening, then. Hilde – if you’d stay a few moments, please…’
Quick interest from the others: their eyes were averted from her then as they curtsied, said their goodnights and trooped out. The door closed quietly behind Pauline, and Madame said quietly, ‘Sit down, Hilde.’
‘Madame.’
‘I am very fond of you, Hilde. You must know that, I’m sure – and that I find your work more than satisfactory. Also, I respect your anxiety for your mother and your determination to do whatever you can for her. It’s far from easy, on the very small amount which is all we can afford to pay you, to cope at the same time with one who is to all intents and purposes a dependant. You need not explain any of that to me, I do fully understand – having given it a great deal of thought in the last few days – the motivation behind this dancing business.’
So there it was. Next would be, ‘First thing in the morning, pack your bag.’ She bowed her head. ‘I’m very sorry, Madame. That I should have offended you, especially.’
‘At greater risk is the reputation of this Institute, Hilde. I already have problems enough with – oh, our council, and as you all must know, with Dr Depage – and if a – frankly, a scandal of this nature became known to them, those problems might be considerably exacerbated.’
‘I realise, Madame, that I’ll have to leave. It shames me that my thoughtlessness should have created such embarrassment for you. Shall I leave tomorrow, or—’
‘No, Hilde.’ Chin up, eyes defiant. Tiny woman, enormous spirit. Little and quiet, but tough. ‘You will not leave us. I have wracked my conscience over this, and I have no intention of releasing you. First because I believe you have an aptitude for our profession which will stand you – and others, eventually – in good stead. That’s one side of it – I won’t have your potential wasted. The other is that if I did let you go – with your sense of obligation towards your mother – my guess is that you might be tempted even further into that cabaret-type milieu. Might you not?’
She had been thinking of taking Berceau up on his offer. At Taisnières there’d have been no work that would pay even half as well. There could be a future beyond the boites, too: there were, after all, such things as theatres. She’d nodded, looking down at her folded hands.
‘It’s possible, Madame.’
‘Another side to this, I must admit, is that I was not at all taken with that odious person. Who or what is he, do you know?’
‘I don’t, Madame. But he’s here in the Institute quite often. His manner’s that of – one might think, a spy. He’d seen me here, then saw me dancing, and—’
A nod. ‘He told me that. No – that he’d seen you first in Chez Jules – the café. No mention of his ever having been in this building.’
‘The worst of it is – this is a delicate matter, Madame, my apologies – the fact is he made approaches to me, threatened that if I did not comply he’d—’
‘Inform on you.’ The blue eyes were sharp and hard. ‘I see.’ A small frown then, a glance towards the door, a lowered tone: ‘Did you mean – a police spy?’
‘I don’t know. But there’s another, a tall man named Jeannes. He was just loitering, looking into doorways that were open – on the third floor, this was, about a month ago. Sister Wilkins asked him what he was doing and he said he was looking for someone who might tell him where the staircase was. She sent him packing – but I saw him another time on the street with Quien.’
‘Why do you imagine a police spy – or spies – should have any interest in this establishment?’
‘Why indeed, Madame!’
‘I’ll warn everyone to look out for them. Now, Hilde – if the others ask why I kept you behind, it was to congratulate you on the excellence of your work. That is the truth, one of the doctors did recently single you out for praise, and I am pleased with you. But from now on, will you stay away from that dancing place?’
She’d nodded. What else? Madame continuing, ‘I’ll try – try – to find some small sums for you to send your mother. Just a little – now and then. Your contributions are not all she has to live on, are they?’
‘No, Madame. Madame de Semeillions, to whom in fact I send the money—’
‘Oh, yes. I know of her through the Princess du Croy. She’s still helping, is she? I’m glad. The Princess holds her in great esteem. I suggest you write and tell her that regrettably your future contributions will be smaller and less regular. You might ascribe it to – a change of circumstances you might say?’
‘Yes, I’ll do that. But also – with your permission – I’ll go to the boite tomorrow for the last time. I’m owed some money – which I’ll send with the letter – but in any case I must tell them – him – he’s a good man, actually.’
‘Very well.’ A glance at the watch which she kept pinned to her uniform. ‘I’m glad we’ve had this talk, Hilde.’
‘I’m most grateful to you, Madame. I can’t say how much. For your thoughtfulness and kindness.’
Koch’s last question had been, ‘So your saintly directrice knew about your cavorting, and allowed it to continue!’
‘No. She didn’t. I expected her to throw me out, but she decided against that for two reasons – one, I was making good progress, and two, she guessed if she did so I’d as likely as not go into that sort of employment full time – since I had to earn money, to help my mother.’
‘You say she did not allow you to go on with it?’
‘She did not.’
‘You accepted that prohibition?’
‘Of course.’ She spread her hands. ‘Is this really of importance?’
‘Oh, certainly. You say you accepted the prohibition – but in point of fact, despite your deep respect and devotion to the woman, you actually carried on as before.’
‘I stayed away from the Boudoir Rose for a while, but—’
‘Let’s drop the pretence, fraulein. This is just playing games. Isn’t it the truth that you took the dancing job on in the first place at her suggestion?’
‘What?’
‘I’ve surprised you?’
‘The very idea’s crazy!’
‘On the contrary. Knowing that woman as I now do, I see it as entirely rational.’
She’d gone to the Boudoir Rose that Saturday, and had danced, as well as explaining to Jacques Berceau that she’d be unable to do so again.
‘Did rat on you, did he, that little squirt?’
‘Did indeed. Madame, out of the pure kindness of her heart, didn’t sack me, but – I’m sorry, I had to promise.’
‘I’m sorry too. I wish she had sacked you. Anyway – if you change your mind…’
Two or three weeks later Madame again asked her to stay behind at the end of an evening assemblée –‘to discuss your mother’s situation, Hilde’ – and when the door was shut behind the others asked her, ‘You have not been back to that place, I take it?’
‘Only that once, the Saturday after…’
‘I remember. But Hilde – I’m sorry, my efforts to find other sources of even small amounts of money have met with no success. We’re virtually penniless here, is the truth. Did you write to Madame de Semeillions?’
‘Yes. Enclosing the last of my earnings.’
‘Perhaps not the last. I’m going to surprise you now, Hilde. Shock you, perhaps. But – if you wanted to go back there, would they take you on again?’
Surprised her, all right. It was a few heartbeats before she answered. ‘They would, Madame. As it happens, that was made plain. But—’
‘I am not advancing this proposition simply – or even primarily – to enable you to resume the contributions to your mother’s support. Although it would have that effect, which would be a relief, I’m sure. But I am not hiding behind that, Hilde. The fact is, you could render great service to us – to me – in another way entirely. I have been wrestling with the decision whether or not to put this to you. It is a matter of pragmatism versus – respectability, one might call it. Appearances. Well – I take that on my conscience.’ A nod. ‘Bewildering you, am I not. Straight to the point then – I would like you to return to your dancing, and the reason – let me just say first that in telling you this it would be no exaggeration to say I am placing lives in your hands – the reason, Hilde, is that I and certain friends are facilitating the escape of French and British soldiers – and young French and Belgians of military age who want to join the Allied armies – by accommodating them secretly here in Brussels. Some in this Institute, others – well, elsewhere – and at intervals despatching them in small groups, with guides, to the Dutch frontier and across it into Holland.’ She’d closed her eyes for a moment. ‘There. It’s said. Does it appal you, Hilde?’
‘Astonishes and slightly unnerves me, Madame, but—’
‘There’s danger in it, certainly. But – when there’s a cry for help… Hilde, in times like these, when terror makes might seem right, it seems to me that there is a higher duty than prudence. Would you agree?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Will you help us?’
‘I’m honoured that you should allow me to. What should I do?’
‘The guides I’ve mentioned – there are four of them – would be asked to use the Boudoir Rose as what you might call their communications centre. A man who is ready to make another trip would call in there and ask to make the acquaintance of the dancer – do they call you by your own name, Hilde?’
‘I’m known – ridiculously enough – as Cleo. But they could certainly do that, and ask me to join them for a drink – as that beastly one did.’
‘It wouldn’t attract particular attention, then?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Good. You’ll have their names and descriptions – names that would serve as passwords – and whenever there’s another party ready, instructions for you to give them – where and when to make the rendezvous. When they’ve agreed, you confirm it to me.’
‘And that’s all?’
Koch told her, ‘The Boudoir Rose was stated to be a frequent haunt of persons who disappeared at the time of the Cavell woman’s arrest. See where my so-called crazy notion comes from? You worked in that boite, worked also for Cavell, had worked for these du Croys. That’s enough to make me doubt you should be left at large anywhere in the vicinity of this château. Perhaps anywhere at all. Charges may yet be brought against you in connection with those past activities. My interest though is security in this area and, immediately, what may have passed between you and Leutnant Ketteler. Which will be clarified very soon. For the time being therefore—’ he paused for a moment, staring at her, then nodded – ‘for the time being, continue at the Manoir, and caring for your mother, but confine yourself to those two locations and the direct route between them. On no account attempt either to leave this district or to communicate with anyone outside it. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘That’s all.’ He picked up a silver bell, property of the Princess du Croy, and shook it. ‘Sergeant!’