18

“Adèle, wake up! You must come, quickly.”

Adelaide sat up with a jolt as Marie Launay shook her awake. The room was still in darkness, but she could hear the urgency in the Marie’s voice.

“Aunt Marie! What is it? What’s happened?” She reached for the bedside light, but Marie caught her hand.

“No lights,” she hissed. “Come downstairs, Adèle, we need you.” Marie was already out of the door and on the stairs. “You must get dressed.”

“I’m coming.” Adelaide swung her legs out of bed and threw on some clothes. However, before she followed Marie downstairs, she slipped the garter, on which she carried her razor-sharp knife, up above her left knee, where it nestled hidden by her skirt. It was the first time she had taken the knife with her, but as she had no idea what the problem downstairs was, she wanted to be prepared.

In the kitchen she found not only the Launays, but five other people, two of them children. A couple were seated, pale faced, at the table and the children were standing beside them. The little family turned fearfully as Adèle came into the room, and she saw to her surprise that the children were identical twins, young boys, their faces pinched and pale, their eyes wide and dark, one clinging to his father’s hand, the other within the circle of his mother’s arm.

A second man, standing by the window, was speaking. “Albertine will clear up as best she can,” he said. “I must get back to help her now. Anyway, if I’m seen near here, it’s the end for all of us.”

Gerard nodded and shook the man’s hand. “You’re right, Étienne. Be careful… and good luck.”

The woman at the table caught at Étienne’s hand as he moved to the door. “God bless you, Étienne,” her voice cracked with emotion, “you and Albertine. We shall never forget you.”

Étienne patted her hand awkwardly. “Sorry we can’t help any more,” he said gruffly. Gerard turned off the light and Étienne slipped through the scullery and out into the darkness, the back door closing softly behind him.

Gerard switched the light on again and the woman turned to him. There were tears in her eyes. “And now we put you in danger.”

“Don’t worry,” Marie Launay said quietly. “We’ll do our best to get you all away.” She turned to Adelaide and went on. “This is the Auclon family. Joseph and Janine and their sons, Jacques and Julien. They’re Jews, but their family has lived round here as long as I can remember. They managed to escape the Gestapo roundup last year, and Étienne, my cousin, and his wife Albertine, have been hiding them in a derelict cottage on their farm ever since. But today Étienne saw that scum, Alain Fernand, sniffing about in the woods nearby. He thinks that Fernand has somehow got wind of the hiding place. If he has, it won’t be long before he reports it to his German masters. Étienne had no choice but to move them, for everyone’s sake.”

“Where shall we hide them?” asked Adelaide, though she thought she already knew the answer. “There’s nowhere here.”

“In your safe room,” answered Gerard. “It is the only chance they’ve got. If Étienne’s right about Fernand, the Germans will be swarming everywhere tomorrow. We’ve nowhere to hide four people here.”

“I don’t know how safe the room really is,” warned Adelaide. “It’s not been tested yet. There hasn’t been a German raid since it was finished.”

Gerard shrugged. “It’s the best we can do for now. They must be hidden before morning. Then we can try and work out some long-term plans.” He gestured. “This is Antoinette.” He used her resistance code name, though she doubted that it was of much protection in the circumstances. “We’ll try and get you to a safe place, but you’ll have to stay hidden there until we can make some plan to move you further away.”

He turned to Marie. “Can you put up some food and water for them to bring?” he said. “We may not be able to get back to them for several days.”

Marie nodded, and went into her pantry to see what she could find.

“You’ll have to make sure the children stay quiet,” Adelaide warned the mother. “We’ve got to move round the village, and there may be patrols.”

Madame Auclon smiled wearily. “It has become their life, to be quiet,” she said. “They won’t make a sound.”

Marie returned with two baskets of food, and having filled two bottles of water from the tap, handed them to Monsieur Auclon.

“Ready?” said Gerard. “Let’s go.” He smiled reassuringly at the Auclons. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you safely hidden.”

They collected a length of rope from the barn, which Adelaide coiled round her waist, and Gerard tucked a short crowbar under his jacket. Thus equipped, Gerard led the little group out of the farmyard and along the river path towards the convent. Monsieur Auclon carried the baskets of food, with Madame holding each child firmly by the hand, following behind. Adelaide brought up the rear. There was no moon, but the sky was clear and faint starlight lit their way. As their eyes adjusted to the night, they made steady progress and Gerard found his way to the copse below the convent without any difficulty. There had been no sound in the darkness as they had edged round the village, their ears strained for the slightest noise that might warn them of approaching danger. The night remained still as they followed the path up through the trees to the convent wall.

“Wait here,” Gerard whispered, as they reached the edge of the copse. “Stay back in the trees, and don’t move. We’ll come back for you in a minute or two, all right?” He didn’t warn them again to be quiet; there was no need.

Leaving the little family deep in the shadows, Adelaide and Gerard moved out into the open ground beside the convent wall.

“How far along?” Gerard murmured as they reached the wall.

“At the edge of the field,” whispered Adelaide. “Ten paces beyond the courtyard gate.” They reached the gate and then counted their steps until they found the stunted bush, its roots thrust through the iron bars of the grille, which both marked and masked the grating.

“Here,” murmured Adelaide, and they set to work with the crowbar.

When Adelaide had presented herself at the convent kitchen door that first morning at exactly 7.30, Sister Elisabeth, large and red-faced with the sleeves of her habit tucked up to her shoulders, was expecting her.

“So, Adèle,” she greeted her briskly. “Mother says I’m to use you to relieve Sister Marie-Marc from some of the heavier work.” She surveyed Adelaide for a moment and sniffed, as if she found her wanting.

“I’m stronger than I look, Sister,” Adelaide ventured. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

“Well, first thing, you can get to work on those dishes,” Sister Elisabeth said, waving her hand at a stack of plates on a trolley being wheeled through the kitchen into the scullery beyond by another, older sister.

“Sister Marie-Marc, this is Adèle,” Sister Elisabeth announced in the sort of voice reserved for the hard of hearing or the stupid. “She’s come to help with the work here in the kitchen. When you’ve finished the dishes between you, she can bring up potatoes and onions from the cellar and you can prepare them for lunch.”

“Yes, Sister,” Sister Marie-Marc replied mildly. She smiled at Adelaide, her eyes bright amidst the wrinkles of her face, and piled the plates into the deep stone sink. “Hello, Adèle. We’re very glad to have you helping out.” She pointed to the huge black range, which occupied one wall of the kitchen. “There’s a pot of hot water on the stove, will you bring that through here? Then you can wash and I’ll dry.”

Adelaide fetched the heavy pot and poured hot water into the sink while Sister Marie-Marc turned on the single tap, to add the cold.

When the dishes were done, Sister Marie-Marc nodded to a door behind them. “That’s the way down to the cellar. You’ll find a sack of potatoes down there, and some onions.”

Adelaide had spent some time the previous evening wondering how she was going to be able to get into the cellar and assess its possibilities as a hiding place. Despite Reverend Mother refusing her permission to use the convent, or its cellar, as a safe house, Adelaide had not yet given up the idea. If she could find a way of using a part of the cellar without putting the nuns at risk, she could either go back to Sarah and put it to her again, or, and this was an option she was loath to take but was probably the more likely, she could make use of it without her aunt’s knowledge.

Now was her chance to have a quick look. She opened the door and peered down into the darkness below.

“Be careful,” Sister Marie-Marc warned her, handing her a pot for the potatoes. “Those steps are steep.”

“I’ll be careful,” Adelaide promised, and with a tight grip on the single handrail descended the stone stairs into the cellar. By the light that filtered down from the open door, she could see the racks of stored vegetables in the first cellar. A slatted table held apples, spread in neat rows, above which were several shelves lined with preserving jars, all labelled with their contents, soft fruits, jams and honey. Several rounds of cheese wrapped in cotton cloth were standing on a marble slab, and there were stone butter jars just like those in Marie Launay’s pantry. Below the apple table were bulging sacks, which, when she investigated them, Adelaide found to contain carrots, turnips and the potatoes. Strings of onions hung from hooks in the ceiling and there were more large stone jars standing on the floor, marked flour and rice. As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she could see that there were other cellars beyond, rooms opening off each other. She looked into the first and saw a heap of coal, but beyond that there was no light.

I’ll have to come down with a lamp or a candle or something, she thought as she peered into the darkness. I must look at the place properly.

Afraid she would occasion comment if she were too long fetching the vegetables, she filled her pot with potatoes from an open sack, took a string of onions from one of the hooks and scurried back up the steps. Later she was determined to find a way to explore the cellars beyond.

When she emerged back into the kitchen, Sister Elisabeth was nowhere to be seen, and Sister Marie-Marc was standing at the range stirring a stockpot with a huge iron spoon.

“You found them? Good. I’ll get on with those.” She took the vegetables from Adelaide and laid them on the table. “Sister Elisabeth has been called away, but she says you’re to bring up some coal from the cellar, to fill those.” She indicated three iron containers set in a recess beside the range. “That really is a job for a younger back.”

“Yes, Sister,” Adelaide replied, moving to pick up one of the huge buckets.

“I doubt if even a youngster like you will be able to carry one of those full,” said Sister Marie-Marc. “We usually bring the coal up in a smaller bucket which is in the cellar, and fill the big ones where they stand. Come with me, I’ll show you.” Giving the stew a good swirl with the spoon before she left it, the old nun led the way back down into the cellar.

“There’s no electric light down here,” she said cheerfully, as she picked up an oil lamp Adelaide hadn’t noticed before. “So, look where you’re going.” She lit the lamp and led the way into the first side cellar. “The coal, what’s left of it, is over here, and there’s the small bucket for carrying.”

“Fine, Sister, I’ll bring some up for you.” Adelaide smiled. “Don’t forget your stew,” she added, as the little nun seemed inclined to linger.

With a cry of dismay, Sister Marie-Marc disappeared up the stairs, and Adelaide was left in the cellar, with the lamp.

Quickly she shovelled coal into the first bucket, and then leaving it ready to bring up to the kitchen took the lamp and began to explore. She held the light high as she walked through the musty rooms that made up the cellars. One had garden implements stored in it, two spades, a garden fork, a hoe and a rake; another was stacked with old furniture, a third had some empty packing cases, an old ladder with several rungs missing and a bicycle without a front wheel. Finally she reached the last, and saw the faint daylight filtering through the grille in its ceiling.

This must be the one, Adelaide thought, where they hid Terry Ham.

She considered it for a moment. It had distinct possibilities. It had a sturdy door to close it off. There was no lock, but that could be rectified. The grille above was just about big enough for a man to squeeze through… if he could climb up to it. The only things in the cellar were some old shelves and a heap of rags in the corner.

Yes, Adelaide decided, it does have possibilities. But first I must find out where that grating comes out.

She had no more time now, Sister Marie-Marc would wonder why she was taking so long with the coal, so she hurried back to the coal cellar, picked up the waiting bucket and carried it up to the kitchen. When she’d emptied it into one of the large scuttles at the side of the range, she returned to the cellar for more. On each journey she took a few moments to learn the geography of the cellars, to try and work out where the grille might emerge. Before she carried the last bucket up the stairs, Adelaide held the lamp to the ceiling of the coal cellar, and there sure enough was what she had half-expected to see; a coal chute which must open into the yard above.

If I can find that, she thought excitedly, I can probably work out roughly where the grating must be.

When Adelaide carried the final bucket up to the kitchen, she found Sister Elisabeth was back. The nun looked at the full coalscuttles with approval.

“Very good, Adèle,” she said. “That should be enough to last us right through until tomorrow.”

“And tomorrow I’ll fill them again,” Adelaide promised.

Adelaide went to the convent each morning for four hours, and gradually fell into a routine. She knew what was expected of her, and, once the nuns realised it, they let her get on with it.

On her second day she had found the grating from the outside. It had been easy to see the coal chute in a corner of the courtyard and from there to guess where the grating might be. Almost buried in a patch of scrub at the edge of the field, it was just outside the convent wall. Clearly it had not been lifted for years. Thickly covered with weeds, it lay concealed and forgotten. Adelaide knelt down and pretended to do up her shoelace while she inspected the grille more carefully. Was it the one, or simply some sort of drain? She picked up a twig and pushed it through the iron bars. Next time she visited the cellar, her twig was on the floor.

Each day Adelaide collected coal for the kitchen range, and each day she worked on the end cellar, Terry’s cellar. Under her skirt, she smuggled in a bradawl, a screwdriver and metal bolt, all provided by Gerard Launay, and while she was supposed to be shovelling coal, she gradually equipped the door with a bolt on its inside, so that anyone hiding there might lock himself in, perhaps buying enough time to make a break for it through the ceiling grille.

It was when she had just finished this job she turned round to find Sister Marie-Marc standing watching her.

“Sister!” Adelaide held the screwdriver in the fold of her skirt, hoping the nun hadn’t actually seen what she’d been doing. “Did you want me? Is there something I can do?”

Sister Marie-Marc smiled. “No, I just wanted to see what you were up to down here.”

“Up to? I’m not up to anything,” Adelaide smiled. “Though I have to admit to curiosity. I was just exploring the cellar, that’s all.”

“No it isn’t,” replied Sister Marie-Marc conversationally. “Over the last few days you’ve loosened the grating, you’ve brought a chair in from the other cellar and now you’ve put a bolt on the door… on the inside.” The nun’s bright eyes studied her. “So, who are you, Adèle, and what are you doing here? Does Mother know?”

Adelaide thought fast. How much, if anything, should she admit to this elderly nun? Sister Marie-Marc had already helped a British airman to escape from the Germans, but was she really prepared to risk her life and the lives of her sisters to go on helping men to escape? Whatever happened, they couldn’t spend any more time down in the cellar now, without causing comment or suspicion.

“Sister, we must go back upstairs. Sister Elisabeth will be wondering where we are.” She moved towards the main cellar, but Sister Marie-Marc put out her hand to stop her.

“No, she won’t. She’s been called over to the hospital to discuss something with Sister Marie-Paul.”

“But we must finish making the pastry for lunch,” pointed out Adelaide.

“Indeed we must,” Sister Marie-Marc agreed, “and while we do it, you can tell me why I shouldn’t tell Sister Elisabeth what you’ve been doing down here when you’re supposed to be bringing up the coal.” She turned back towards the cellar steps, speaking over her shoulder as she did so. “I should leave your tools down here, they’d be hard to explain to Sister Elisabeth.”

Sister Marie-Marc had turned out to be a born conspirator. Adelaide decided she had to trust her with at least part of the truth.

“I’ve come from England,” she said. “Your friend Terry made it back.”

Sister Marie-Marc’s face lit up. “Terry is safe?”

“Yes.” Adelaide smiled at the nun’s obvious delight at the news. “And he told us how you and Mother Marie-Pierre had helped him escape. I’ve been sent to try and arrange an escape route for other airmen who are shot down.”

“Does Mother know?” asked Sister Marie-Marc.

“She knows why I’m here.” Adelaide paused, not quite sure how to explain.

“But not what you are doing.” Sister Marie-Marc nodded her understanding. “It’s better she shouldn’t know. I will not tell her.”

“Thank you,” murmured Adelaide, slightly amused at this.

“Because if I do,” Sister Marie-Marc went on cheerfully, “she might not let me help you.”

“Help me?”

“Of course, you need someone on the ‘inside’ hein?” The eyes were bright with excitement.

“I thought you were bound by a vow of obedience,” remarked Adelaide.

“Of course. But I am not disobedient. Mother has not told me I should not help you.”

They continued work on “Terry’s room”, equipping it with a few necessities, most of which Sister Marie-Marc produced from other parts of the convent. There were some candles and matches, a couple of old blankets, two jars for water and the bucket Sister Marie-Marc had provided for Terry Ham’s use. Together they carried in the broken ladder, which was tall enough to enable anyone hiding there to reach the grating in the roof. As they propped it against the wall, Adelaide looked round the room. “Well, I think that’s the best we can do. Let’s see if we really can hide the door.”

They closed the door, and between them dragged an old bookcase in front of it. This hid the door from any casual glance, and in front of this they gradually stacked all the other disused and broken furniture. Each time one of them came down to the cellar for something, she put another piece of the old furniture in front of the bookcase, until it was almost impossible to see anything beyond the stack. They had spread some of the other rubbish into the cellar where the furniture had been, sweeping smooth the scuffmarks they had made while dragging the heavier pieces into place, and to the unsuspicious eye the cellar still looked very much as it always had, a succession of rooms filled with an accumulation of junk.

“If the Boche do see the door, they’ll have to move all this stuff before they can get inside,” Sister Marie-Marc remarked with satisfaction, looking at the old furniture. “That should give time to escape.”

“So it should,” Adelaide agreed, “but once they have broken in that will be an end to it. It will put the whole convent at risk, so I shan’t use it except in an emergency.”

And this, thought Adelaide, as she and Gerard bent in the darkness to prise up the grating, is an emergency. The clink of iron on iron sounded incredibly loud to her but, with their combined strength, the grating lifted easily enough, and was laid aside.

Wedging the crowbar across the opening, Gerard knotted the rope to it and dropped the other end down into the hidden room below.

“I’ll keep watch here,” murmured Gerard. “You go and fetch them.”

“All right,” whispered Adelaide, and, leaving him beside the hole, hurried back to the family. She found them waiting patiently where they had left them, crouched in the deep shadow of a tree. Even as she reached them, Monsieur Auclon grabbed her hand and dragged her deeper into the shadows. He put his mouth to her ear. “Someone is coming!”

Adelaide strained her ears and then she, too, heard something. The sound of a twig cracking, followed by a stifled oath, made her freeze, her back pressed against the tree so that she was lost against the darkness of the trunk. Standing perfectly still, Adelaide strained her eyes into the night to see who was coming so stealthily up the track through the copse. The Auclons were as stone, the little boys pressed against their mother, their faces buried in her skirt, the father standing protectively in front of them. Adelaide could feel that they were poised for flight, and knew that it would be fatal to them all if their nerve failed now. She heard another sound, a foot against a stone, and the murmur of a voice. Adelaide felt a cold chill run down her spine as she realised that there were at least two of them and that they were speaking German. She gripped Monsieur Auclon’s arm, and, pressing her lips to his ear, murmured. “Don’t move unless I say!” Her hand slid under her skirt and grasped the handle of the little knife. The feel of it in her fingers was reassuring; despite its size its honed blade would slit a man’s throat. She waited, poised, in the darkness. At least she had the element of surprise, but the last thing she wanted to do was to kill German soldiers here, where there was nowhere to hide their bodies, where they would be immediately missed. She held her breath… and waited.

The Germans passed within four feet of them, unaware of the trembling group, and continued up the path until they reached the convent wall.

“Stay back,” Adelaide murmured, and moving silently between the trees, her senses straining, she crept after the Germans. Her mind whipped into action. How could she warn Gerard of the men’s approach? At once she dismissed the idea. She couldn’t warn him without giving them all away. She’d have to hope he was on the alert and had heard them coming. Surely he would take cover.

The sky was beginning to lighten now, and, as she reached the edge of the trees, Adelaide could make out the men standing beside the convent wall, two darker shapes against the grey stone. They were edging along to the gate. It was clear they did not want to be heard, so they were not a regular patrol.

So what the hell are they doing? Adelaide’s mind was racing. And what shall I do? If they go much further they’ll not only find the hole, they’ll fall into it! If that happens it’s all over.

Make a noise and run? I should be able to lose them in the dark of the copse, and, if they’re following me, Gerard should be able to get the Auclons safely into the hidden room.

She was about to reveal herself, to draw them off, when they stopped. They had reached the closed wooden gate that led into the convent courtyard. Even as she watched, Adelaide saw one cup his hands as a step and hoist his mate up and over the gate. The man waited for a moment and then the small side gate was opened and he disappeared inside.

The sound of an angry squawk from the henhouse told Adelaide what they were up to; stealing chickens. Moments later the gate opened again and the two men came out, stifling laughter, and each with a hen under his arm. With no attempt at stealth now, the two of them set off down the hill at speed, and Adelaide could hear them crashing through the bushes as they made their escape with their prizes.

Poor Sister Marie-Marc, thought Adelaide as she heard them go. That’s the third raid on her henhouse.

The men’s noisy flight told them they were safe for a moment, and Adelaide collected her charges from their hiding place and led them out across the open ground to where Gerard was coming to meet them.

“What was all that about?” he hissed as they reached him.

“German soldiers stealing chickens,” she replied briefly. “Too busy thieving to notice us.”

“Thank God for that!” Gerard turned to the Auclons. “Come on, nearly there!” He led the way along the wall, past the wooden gate, to the open entrance to the hidden cellar. “You first, Madame.” He held out his hand to Madame Auclon. “Sit on the ground, hold onto the rope and lower yourself down.” Madame Auclon did as she was told, and the children, one after the other, followed her into the comparative safety of the cellar. Adelaide hauled up the rope and lowered each of the baskets of food Monsieur Auclon had been carrying. She leaned down and placing her face through the opening spoke softly. “The sisters won’t know you are here. You must keep the children as quiet as you can, your lives may depend on it. Any sound in that room could well be heard from out here. We’ll get back to you as soon as we can. Good luck.”

“God bless you, Mademoiselle,” came the whisper from below.

Adelaide moved away from the opening so that Monsieur Auclon could slip down into the cellar, but he paused on the edge. “Thank you, Monsieur Launay, Mademoiselle Antoinette.”

“You shouldn’t be too uncomfortable if it’s only for a few days,” Adelaide said softly, taking his extended hand. “When one of us comes to you, we’ll push two twigs down through the grating so you’ll know it’s us. You may hear noises in the cellar, but don’t panic, just keep the children quiet. You can bolt the door on the inside and you should be safe. If someone tries to break in through the door, get out this way. The grating should move fairly easily if you push hard enough. Remember, at most you’ll have three or four minutes to escape.”

Jean Auclon nodded, and taking a grip on the rope slid down into the cellar below. Gerard and Adelaide replaced the iron grille, its marker bush still protruding through its bars. A few dead branches completed the camouflage, and leaving the little family concealed there, they crept away, stealing through the grey light of dawn back to the farm.

Gerard hurried into the house to reassure Marie that they were safely back, while Adelaide put the crowbar and the rope back into the barn. As she reached the back door, left ajar for her, she heard raised voices. Gerard was shouting.

“What the hell’s going on? What are you doing here? Marie?”

Adelaide edged round the back door and paused in the scullery, out of sight of anyone in the kitchen. Another man spoke, a voice that Adelaide did not know.

“All I want is some information,” the voice said. “Then no one will get hurt. Your wife here refused to tell me what I need to know, so I waited for you. I’m sure you don’t want me to take her eyes out, do you? Life’s difficult enough just now without having a blind woman to look after.” The voice was soft, almost cooing as it spoke, and was all the more sinister for its lack of emotion.

“All you have to tell me is where the Auclon family is hidden. No skin off your nose. They’re Jews after all… scum.”

“You’re the scum,” exploded Gerard, “collaborating with the Germans.”

There was a muffled cry of pain and Gerard cried out. “No, no!”

Adelaide moved softly to the scullery door, putting her eye to the crack of the hinge so that she could see part of the kitchen without being seen. Marie was sitting on a chair, her back to the window; a rope lashed her firmly in place, her mouth was stuffed with a handkerchief. Her eyes wide with fear, she strained away from the man who stood behind her. Adelaide recognised him at once as Alain Fernand, the man she and Marcel had seen in the wood; the man snooping round Étienne’s farm. He held a knife to Marie’s face, the blade caressing her skin. His threats were clearly not idle, she already had a stark red line across the pallor of her cheek, from which blood oozed and trickled down her neck.

“Just tell me where you’ve hidden the Jews and you’ll hear no more about it. I won’t tell the Germans that you helped to hide them.” His voice hardened and he went on. “Don’t make me have to cut your wife any more, Launay. You’ll tell me in the end… why put her through the pain first? And don’t even think of rushing me, or my knife goes straight through her eye… and into her brain.”

Adelaide couldn’t see Gerard, but she guessed he must be just inside the door. There was no way he could reach Marie in time if Fernand was prepared to carry out his threat, and from the sound of his voice Adelaide knew Fernand was enjoying himself; enjoying the fear he induced, enjoying the power he wielded.

“I know that fool Étienne must have been hiding them all this time.” Fernand’s voice returned to the conversational. “How he managed it for so long I can’t imagine! Still, I sniffed them out and here we are. Now, don’t waste any more of my time, Launay, or your wife will suffer.” Even as he spoke he flicked the blade carelessly across Marie’s other cheek.

Adelaide’s thoughts were racing. A diversion! She must cause a diversion. She couldn’t reach Marie either, but she could perhaps cause a diversion so that Gerard had some chance to attack Fernand. Grabbing one of the stone jars Marie kept butter in, Adelaide stepped out into the yard and hurled it with all her strength at the kitchen window, which shattered with a crashing explosion of flying glass. Even as the window disintegrated, Adelaide was back through the scullery and into the kitchen. There was glass everywhere. Fernand had spun round as the window exploded behind him and Gerard had launched himself across the room, knocking Marie and her chair to the floor. He was grappling with Fernand, trying to grab the knife. But Fernand was younger and stronger; his grip tight on the knife, he forced Gerard down to the floor, the blade thrusting ever closer to the older man’s head. Adelaide was across the room in a flash, her own knife already in her hand. With a swift and merciless blow, she drove it hard between Fernand’s shoulder blades. Fernand gave a grunt, stumbling forward and Adelaide jerked the knife free, only to drive it once more into the collaborator’s back. Fernand collapsed onto the floor, a dark stain spreading across his jacket; the knife he had been grasping skittering away across the flagstones. Gerard took one look at him and then catching up the dropped knife rushed over to Marie, still lashed to the overturned chair. Swiftly he cut her bonds and pulled the grubby handkerchief out of her mouth, gathering her into his arms as she began to sob.

Rocking her gently back and forth, Gerard looked over his wife’s head. “Is he dead?”

Adelaide had pulled her knife free and was standing with it in her hand, looking down at the body on the floor. “I think so,” she whispered. She stared at the crumpled heap of humanity lying at her feet and felt cold. She had killed a man. She had been trained to kill with a knife, but she had never imagined that she would actually have to do so.

“If it’s him or you,” Sergeant Grant had impressed upon her as he taught her to handle a knife, “don’t hesitate. If it’s kill or be killed, you do the killing!”

Not him or me, thought Adelaide as she stared down at Fernand, but him or Marie, Gerard and the entire Auclon family.

“Yes,” she said abruptly. “So now we must deal with his body. He probably hasn’t been to the Germans yet, but we can’t rely on that. Come on, Gerard, we have to get him out of here, and fast.”

“But Marie…” Gerard began.

“Marie is fine,” said his wife bravely, pulling away from him. “Adèle is right. We must move the pig out of here and get rid of him.” She got unsteadily to her feet and Gerard stood up beside her.

“Will people be looking for him?” asked Adelaide, as she ran the blade of her knife under the kitchen tap. “Family? Friends?”

Gerard shrugged. “Perhaps,” he said, “I don’t know. He probably won’t have told anyone else about the Auclons yet. He’d want the credit for finding them himself.”

“Let’s hope so,” said Adelaide. “Come on, there’s no time to waste. We must make sure that there is no sign that he was ever anywhere near here. We’ll have to bury him. Where do you suggest? We can’t move him far.” She looked from one to the other. “Where can we bury him?”

Marie, calm now, had a suggestion. “In the old well. It’s very deep and unless someone climbed down to the bottom, they would never find him there.”

“Right.” Adelaide took charge. “Let’s get to it. Gerard, you take his legs.” But now the immediate danger was over, Gerard’s strength seemed to have deserted him, and he shook his head.

“Come on, Gerard,” Adelaide urged, “we’ve got to move him now. Where’s the well?”

“In the yard, I’ll show you.” Marie led her out into the yard and pointed to the corner where there was a large, flat stone, with a ring set into it. “When we stopped using it, we had it capped. We’ll have to lift that stone.”

“Then we need the crowbar again,” Adelaide said and went to fetch it from the barn. “Call Gerard to help.”

The ring was stiff to lift, but Adelaide worked on it with the crowbar and at last managed to get it upright so that they could use it to manoeuvre the stone. The stone itself was very heavy, but between them, using the crowbar and a garden fork, they were able to lever it up and slide it clear of the top of the well. Adelaide peered down into the shaft that had opened at her feet. Marie was right, it was unlikely that anyone could see to the bottom of the well even with a powerful torch.

“Let’s do it,” she said tersely, and went back into the kitchen. Fernand was heavy, but they rolled him onto the hearthrug, which was already stained with his blood, and dragged him out into the yard and over to the gaping well shaft.

“Head first,” instructed Adelaide, and they swivelled him round so that his head was over the edge of the shaft, then she lifted his feet and with surprising ease slid him into its darkness. With a slither he was gone, and moments later the faintest splash announced his arrival at the bottom of the well. Adelaide rolled up the bloodstained hearthrug and dropped it in after him.

“Let’s get the stone back.” Adelaide reached for the crowbar and together they edged the capstone back over the shaft. When it was in place, Adelaide knelt on the ground and pushed the ring back into place.

“We need a broom,” she said, and Marie scurried off to find the yard brush. Adelaide took it from her. “You start on the kitchen floor,” she said, “I’ll finish up here.”

Gerard and Marie disappeared indoors and Adelaide swept away the telltale marks left by the dragged hearth rug. She brushed the dust back over the capstone, treading it down into the cracks, pressing it round the ring with her fingers so that there was no sign that the stone had been moved. Once the cattle came into the yard for the morning milking, all traces should be obliterated.

When she returned to the kitchen she found Marie on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor. Fernand had fallen forward, and though his wound had bled, a little of his blood had pooled on the floor, and she was managing to remove the stains. Gerard was collecting up the glass from the shattered window. The force with which Adelaide had hurled the butter jar had sprayed glass all over the kitchen. Adelaide helped him pick up the larger pieces and then they swept up the remaining shards and carried them outside.

It was full daylight before they had cleared away all signs of their night’s work, and when they had finally finished, they all three of them slumped into chairs round the kitchen table.

Gerard buried his head in his hands, the last vestiges of his strength ebbing away. Marie, surprisingly the stronger of the two, looked across at Adelaide and gave a weak smile.

“Adèle,” she said, “you saved our lives. If that pig had got what he wanted, he would have turned us into the Gestapo, and if he hadn’t, he would have killed us both. Thank you. You’re very brave.”

Adelaide smiled back at her. “You too,” she said. She knew that she had been running on adrenaline and now she too felt exhausted. “Tell me what happened.”

“It was not long after you’d gone. Fool that I was, I hadn’t locked the back door. I heard someone in the scullery and I thought one of you must have come back for some reason.” Marie grimaced. “I went to see what you wanted and”—she drew a deep breath as the fear struck her again—”and there he was, with his knife at my throat.

“I tried to scream, but he hit me across the face. I staggered against the wall and he grabbed at me, threatening to stab me if I made any more noise. Then he tied me up to the chair. He asked about the Auclons, and when I said I didn’t know anything about them, he said we’d wait for Gerard.” She looked across at Adelaide. “I don’t think he knew you lived here too, and thank God for it.”

Adelaide squeezed her hand. “We should bathe your face, Marie,” she said, looking at the long gash across Marie’s cheek. The bleeding had stopped, but it was a nasty cut. “It really needs stitches—you should go to the doctor.”

“And how will she explain it?” demanded Gerard, suddenly looking up.

“The broken glass from the window,” suggested Adelaide. “We are going to have to account for the broken window somehow. You’ll have to try and get some glass to mend it.”

“What will we say?” Gerard said wearily.

Adelaide thought for a moment. “If you’re asked, you say you were using the axe to chop wood in the yard and the head flew off and smashed the window.”

Gerard looked at her blankly as she went on. “Come on, Gerard, it could have happened like that. We have to have a story ready in case we are asked. If we aren’t, fine, but if we are, we must all say the same thing.” She reached across the table and took the hand of each of the Launays in hers. “You’ve both been so brave tonight, sheltering the Auclons and then standing up to Fernand. You were amazing, but we have to see it through. If Marie doesn’t go to the doctor to have that gash stitched, it will look more suspicious than if she does. If you’d had an accident with the axe, you’d have taken her straight over.” She squeezed their hands gently. “You’ve kept the Auclons safe, and we’ll find a way to help them escape.”

Marie nodded. “Adèle is right, Gerard, we must look as normal as possible. I will go to Dr Monceau in a little while. You must do the milking, and Adèle must go to the convent. All must be as normal.”

All must be as normal, Adelaide thought as she pedalled her way up the hill to the convent. What is normal in these dreadful times? A family hiding in a cellar, a man threatening torture and ending up at the bottom of a well? Me killing someone, plunging a knife into his back?

The memory of the knife jarring into the man’s body flooded through her and Adelaide tumbled off her bicycle and was sick in the hedge. But although her body had reacted against her action, her mind did not. Him or us, she reminded herself as she re-mounted the bike. Him or us.