Adelaide returned to Albert carrying a small cardboard suitcase. Again her train journey was trouble-free, and it was with relief that she met the Launays as arranged in a café close to the market. They did not ask her where she had been, or whom she had met. They all knew that it was safer for them to know nothing. Gerard simply put Sunshine between the shafts and they set off home together through the early twilight.
By the time she kept the appointment with Marcel at Madame Juliette’s, Adelaide had her whole plan mapped out. Marcel greeted her with a kiss on either cheek, and, having poured them each a glass of wine the three of them sat round the table in Madame Juliette’s kitchen. Adelaide told them how she had got on.
“The priest is prepared to take the children and has provided a cassock for Joseph Auclon’s disguise. As soon as I can get the twins to him, he will move them on. As far as the parents are concerned, if they can reach him safely, he will do his best for them. He’ll tell them where the children are, but they won’t be reunited with them in the foreseeable future. It’s too dangerous.”
“Supposing the parents won’t let the children go?” suggested Marcel.
“I’m sure they will when they realise that it may be the only way to save their lives,” Juliette said. “They’ll put their children first.”
“I’m going to tell them this evening, after I leave here,” Adelaide said. “And then I hope to take the first child tomorrow. How did you get on with the ration cards, Marcel? Any luck?”
“More than I’d expected,” Marcel said. “If you can call it luck. A little lad called Olivier Costeau died of diphtheria a couple of weeks ago. He was only four. When I explained what we needed, his parents gave me his identity card and his ration card. The picture probably isn’t very like the Auclon boys. What colour is their hair?”
“Dark,” replied Adelaide.
“Good. So was Olivier’s, so it may be better than nothing.” Marcel held out the documents and Adelaide took them, looking carefully at the photograph. She forced from her mind that she was looking at the picture of a dead four-year-old, and concentrated on the use to which his papers could be put.
“It’s a grainy picture of a little boy,” she said, passing it across to Juliette. “If we part the Auclon boys’ hair on the same side and make the front stand up in that little quiff, they might pass muster provided the papers are only given a cursory glance. It’s worth a try anyway.”
Juliette nodded. “Best we can do,” she said, “and certainly better than being without any.”
Marcel then produced a parcel wrapped in brown paper. “I’ve got these, too,” he said. “Some of Olivier’s clothes.” He passed them over to Adelaide. “His parents said that they hoped they would be of use to some other boy now.”
Adelaide unwrapped the parcel. There were two sets of good sturdy clothing and two pairs of shoes. She remembered how ragged the twins had looked as they sat in the Launays’ kitchen, and her heart went out to the parents of little dead Olivier.
“Thank them for us,” she said to Marcel. “And for Madame Auclon. She’ll be so grateful. Those boys are dressed in rags.”
“Now I have something for you,” Madame Juliette said. She crossed to a little desk at the side of the room, and, opening it, produced a piece of paper. “I went to see Dr Monceau this morning,” she said, “and while his receptionist was in with him I managed to get hold of a piece of his headed paper. Only one, though, so we need to do a practice run before we write on it.”
Adelaide beamed at the old lady. “Madame Juliette,” she said in admiration, “you are amazing!” She looked at the paper with Dr Monceau’s name, address and qualifications across the top. “This is perfect.”
Together they worked out the wording they would need in the doctor’s letter, and then, having practised the doctor’s spidery hand from a prescription Juliette had, Marcel carefully wrote the letter on the stolen paper.
Dear Doctor Aristide,
I am sending this boy, Olivier Costeau, to you because I am gravely worried about his deteriorating sight. Though his eyes seem clear enough much of the time, on occasion they cloud over and the child loses his peripheral vision. This is happening with increasing frequency and as it is not something I have come across before, I would appreciate you taking a look and recommending some treatment before this loss of sight becomes permanent.
I remain, yours faithfully,
Denis Monceau
“That should cover us if we’re stopped,” Adelaide said with more assurance than she felt. Would a German soldier, or a French gendarme for that matter, accept the letter at face value? She could only pray that they would.
“With the identity card, a ration card and the child in reasonable clothing, and the doctor’s letter, you should get through safely enough,” Marcel agreed. “Now all we have to do is to convince the Auclons to let the boys go.”
“And convince the boys to leave their parents,” added Madame Juliette.
This problem had been vexing Adelaide too. How would the little boys react to being taken away from their mother and father? They were only four years old after all, and for much of their short lives had been living in fear. How would they behave when she took them, one at a time, from the security of their parents? It was vital to the whole plan that they went with her without fuss, that they did nothing that would draw attention to themselves.
“We shall have to rely on the parents for that,” Adelaide said now. “It’s all we can do. And I’d better go and get on with it.”
“I’m coming with you,” Marcel announced, adding as Adelaide was about to veto the idea, “we’ll be far less suspicious if we are seen as a courting couple.” He gave her a grin. “It worked before!”
Adelaide gave a reluctant smile. “All right then, but I don’t want to put you at risk when this really has nothing to do with you.”
“Anything thwarting the Germans has to do with me,” Marcel retorted. “Come on, it’s time to go.” He hid the parcel of clothes under his jacket, and Adelaide took charge of Olivier’s papers, hiding them in her underwear.
“I have some food here for them,” Madame Juliette said, passing over a packet for Adelaide to stow in her shoulder bag. “Just some bread and cheese and hard-boiled eggs. Not much I’m afraid, but it may keep them going for another few days.”
She gave each of them a hug. “Be very careful, both of you,” she said. “There are spies everywhere.” She opened the back door and checked that the alley was empty, before Adelaide and Marcel slipped out into the night and made their way to the copse below the convent. It was full darkness, but a sliver of moon hung in a cloudless sky, allowing them to see—and be seen. It was not yet curfew and so they walked together, arm in arm, a courting couple; they met no one, but you never knew who might be watching. Once in the shelter of the copse, they moved silently between the trees up the hill towards the convent wall. Here they waited for several minutes, listening. The night around them seemed empty and still and so they ventured along the track to where the little bush marked the grating.
Adelaide pushed the two twigs through the grille and then after a moment she and Marcel levered it up, allowing Monsieur Auclon to poke his head up from below.
“We must talk to you,” whispered Adelaide. “We can’t risk you coming out here, we’ll have to come down.”
Joseph Auclon nodded and disappeared. Adelaide lowered herself through the hole, followed by Marcel, who drew the grille down over their heads once more. The atmosphere in the cellar was fetid, the smell of unwashed bodies, urine and faeces combining with the stale air to make an almost tangible miasma.
We have to get these people away, Adelaide thought even as she greeted the family. They can’t stay in these conditions much longer.
Joseph lit a candle end and sheltered it in a box so that its glow was concealed from above. In the flickering light Adelaide could see the anxious faces of the parents and the wide eyes of the children, all afraid of what she was going to say.
“We’ve brought some more food,” she said, handing the packet to Janine Auclon. The woman’s hands shook as she opened it and passed out a piece of bread to each of her children, folding the rest back into the bag and setting it aside.
“This is Marcel,” Adelaide told them. “He’s going to help me get you away from here. He has some things for you, too.” Marcel handed the bundle of clothes to Madame Auclon who stared in a mixture of disbelief and gratitude when she saw what they were.
“We have a plan to get you away,” Adelaide continued, “but it has to be done in stages. We have only one set of documents for the boys, so they will have to travel separately.”
“Oh no!” Madame Auclon gave an involuntary cry, but her husband hushed her with a hand on her arm. “Let Antoinette finish.”
“I will take one of them with me this evening,” Adelaide said. “He’ll stay at the farm overnight and then first thing in the morning I will ride into Albert on my bike with him in the child seat on the back. Once in Albert, we shall take the train. There is a priest who will take him in and look after him until I bring his brother, transported in the same way.” She went on to explain about the letter from the doctor.
“I shall only use that if I absolutely have to. They might check. Then, once both the boys are safely with the priest, he will move them on to a place of greater safety.”
“Where?” asked Madame Auclon, unable to remain silent any longer. “Where will he take them?”
“I will tell you in time, Madame,” Adelaide promised. “But for the moment the fewer people who know the better. It is safer for us all.”
“We understand,” Joseph said. “But if these people are risking their lives for us…”
“You will know in time,” repeated Adelaide. “But their risk is greater if you know who or where they are. If you were captured—” She let the sentence hang in the air.
“And us?” asked Janine Auclon quietly. “What are you going to do with us?”
“When the boys are safe, I will come back for you, and try and get you to the same priest. After that it is out of my hands. I don’t know his contacts any more than he knows mine.” She took Janine’s hand in hers. “I’ll come back and I’ll bring disguises for you both. We’ll have an arranged signal for you to open the inner door. Then we’ll get you out through the convent.”
“What disguises?” asked Joseph suspiciously. “How will we be able to travel without papers?”
“You will be disguised as a Catholic priest,” replied Adelaide calmly, “and Janine as a nun. Travelling together, as priest and nun, you may not be troubled for your papers. I might even have some for you by then, I don’t know.”
“Must we really split up?” asked Janine. “The boys are too young to go without us. What will happen to them? How will I bear it?”
“The Germans are still searching for you,” Adelaide told her, “and they’re looking for a family. If we move you all together, we shall fail. You’ll all be caught. This way you all have a chance to escape and survive. Once you reach the priest you will be out of the immediate area and so, probably, out of immediate danger.”
“But must you take the boys tonight?” asked Janine in a querulous voice, hugging them both to her.
“I must take one of them when I leave now,” Adelaide said firmly. “It is the only way. And whichever it is, he must understand that he must be quiet and do exactly what I tell him. I know he’s only four, but it is imperative that he does as he is told.”
“I will talk to him,” Joseph said. “They may only be four years old, but they have learnt that their lives depend on their instant obedience.” He turned to one of the boys and held out his hand. “Julien, come here.”
One of the boys detached himself from his mother and took his father’s hand.
“This is Antoinette, Julien,” Joseph said. “She has brought you some new clothes. In a minute we are going to get you out of those dirty old ones and let you put them on. Then Antoinette is going to take you to her house for the night. You will ride on her bicycle… won’t that be exciting! Tomorrow you’re going on a train and then you are going to stay with a very kind gentleman until Maman and I come and fetch you.”
“Can I go, too?” came a little voice from across the room. “I don’t want Julien to go by himself.”
“You can go the next day, Jacques,” promised his father with a smile. “Mademoiselle Antoinette only has one seat on her bicycle. Julien and the kind gentleman will be waiting for you when you get there. Then you’ll be together until Maman and I can come and find you.” He held out his other hand and the second boy came to him. “You must both be very brave and do exactly what Mademoiselle Antoinette tells you. She will look after you on your journey.”
“We must go,” Marcel said suddenly. “We’ve been here too long. Please get the child changed and ready to come, Madame.” His voice was harsh, but Adelaide was glad he had taken control. It was breaking her heart to take these children from their parents with no guarantee that they would ever be reunited.
She, too, became businesslike, and while Janine Auclon stripped off Julien’s old clothes and dressed him in Olivier’s, Adelaide spoke urgently to Joseph. “If for any reason I don’t come back tomorrow night at about the same time, don’t panic. It could be for any number of reasons. Just have Jacques ready to go with me at the same time the night after. Once they are safe, I will come back for you.” They agreed the signal for him to unlock the door that led in to the convent cellar, and there was a final failsafe. “If anything happens to me and I don’t come back within a week, Marcel will try and contact you. If you hear from neither of us after ten days, then you are on your own and must do whatever you think is best.”
“If that happens how will we find our children?” demanded Janine, who had been listening to this last exchange.
“Once both are safe and you are out of here and on your way I will give you your next contact.”
“And if something happens to you in the meantime?”
“Madame… Janine.” Adelaide was adamant in her reply. “This is the only way we can do this. If you want your children to stay with you that is your decision, but in that case I can’t help you any more and you will have to leave here.”
“Won’t you even tell me just the town where they are going?” pleaded Janine. “I must know where to begin looking if we lose them.”
“If I don’t return at any time,” Adelaide said reluctantly, “you can ask Reverend Mother. She will set you on the right road. Now, we must go.” She got to her feet and held out her hand to the little boy now dressed in clean and tidy clothes. They were a little on the large side, but Adelaide decided that didn’t really matter. Any prudent mother would buy a size too big to make the clothes last as long as possible, especially as clothes needed coupons.
For a moment the boy held on to his mother, clinging to her waist, his head buried against her, then gently she put him away from her and spoke softly. “Go with Antoinette, Julien. We’ll be with you again very soon, I promise.” She reached down and kissed him and then turned away before he could see the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. Joseph took the boy’s hand. “Be a good boy for Antoinette, Julien.”
Marcel already had the grating lifted away and had slithered through to the open air above. He stuck his head back down to give the all-clear. Joseph gave his son one last convulsive hug, handing him up into Marcel’s waiting arms, before turning away to comfort his wife and Jacques, both of whom were sobbing. Adelaide climbed the ladder and hauled herself out onto the grass, then together she and Marcel replaced the grating, checking the marker bush was in place and scattering the loose twigs around it.
The little boy was shivering in the darkness and Marcel scooped him up into his arms. “Now, mon brave,” he said encouragingly, and setting the boy on his shoulders he strode off down the hill.
“It must be past curfew,” Adelaide warned as they reached the edge of the copse.
“I know,” Marcel agreed. “You take him now.” He lowered the child to the ground. “As we go along the towpath, I’ll go ahead, in case of trouble. You follow behind. If necessary, I’ll cause a diversion and you get him safely back to the farm. All right?”
“All right.” Adelaide took Julien’s hand and crouched down beside him. “We have to be very quiet now, Julien, OK? If we meet someone just do what I do.” She could just see him nod in the faint light of the moon. “Good boy. Come on then.”
They walked along the river path until they reached the track that led to the Launays’ farm. From there it was only a matter of moments before they were safely in the big kitchen with the door shut and bolted.
Marcel did not come in with them. “I’ll see you tomorrow, when you get back.”
“No,” Adelaide said firmly. “Don’t come. I don’t need you and it’s pointless to take the risk. I can go and fetch Jacques. They’ll let him go now.”
“You’ll need help getting the parents out,” he said.
“If all goes well with the boys,” Adelaide said, “I’ll meet you at the café in two days’ time. If something goes wrong, stay clear. There’ll be nothing you can do for me.”
Marcel knew it was true, but he also realised that this girl, so brave and independent, had slipped into his heart without him noticing. He held her briefly in his arms. “All right, two days. Be very careful, Adèle. What you are doing is very dangerous.”
Adelaide smiled up at him. “My just being here is dangerous,” she said.
He kissed her then, a hard possessive kiss, before he let her go, and turning away disappeared into the night.
Marie Launay sat Julien at the table and gave him a bowl of warm soup. The little boy took the bowl in his hands and, tilting it to his lips, didn’t put it down again until it was empty. Then he took the piece of bread she had put beside him and wiped the bowl round and round until it was spotless. Adelaide, watching, realised just how hungry the family must have become shut away for days in the cellar. No wonder the child was so small for his age, small and filthy. Marie filled a tin bath with warm water and sitting him in it she scrubbed his skinny body from head to toe, and when he was clean Adelaide took him into the bed beside her. To her surprise he fell instantly asleep and as she lay next to him, listening to his quiet breathing, she thought about the coming day.
Soon after dawn the next morning, Adelaide slipped Julien into the child seat of the bicycle and they set off. As Julien had devoured the egg and milk Marie gave him for breakfast, Gerard had replaced the two worn inner tubes on the bike with two slightly less patched ones Marcel had managed to find, and Adelaide had studied Olivier Costeau’s papers, memorising his address and date of birth. She had parted Julien’s hair on the right and combed it forward into the quiff shown in the photograph.
“There’s some similarity,” she said, showing the picture to Marie, “if you don’t look too hard!”
She had impressed upon Julien that today he was going to be called Olivier. “I shall call you Olivier,” she told him, “and if anyone asks you your name, you must tell them it’s Olivier. We’ll make a game of it. Every time I say, ‘OK, Olivier’ you must say ‘Yes, Auntie’. OK, Olivier?”
He looked at her for a moment and then responded hesitantly. “Yes, Auntie.”
Adelaide beamed at him. “Bravo, Olivier.”
“Take something for later,” Marie said, and Adelaide took two apples from the Launays’ meagre store and put them in her shoulder bag.
Adelaide pedalled along the track that skirted the village. Even though he was small, Julien’s weight made it hard going along the bumpy track. Adelaide was soon puffing, but she dare not stop. The further away they were before anyone saw them, the better. Once they were clear of the village and on the road to Albert the going got easier, and they began to make better time. The country was comparatively flat, and though on occasion she had to get off and walk, pushing the bike up a slope, the hills were not steep. There was no traffic at first, but as they began to get closer to Albert, they met farm carts, other bicycles and even an occasional car.
On reaching the railway station, Adelaide dismounted and lifted Julien out of his seat. She bent down to him and spoke softly. “OK, Olivier?” He looked at her for a moment, his big eyes solemn in his pale face, and then whispered back, “Yes, Auntie.”
“Good boy,” she said. “Come on, let’s find the train.” She chained her old bike to a railing and headed to the ticket office.
A train came steaming in just as they reached the platform, and Adelaide was able to lift Julien into a compartment, clambering aboard behind him. She sat in a corner and put the small boy on her lap. With her arm protectively round him, she whispered, “OK, Olivier?” and the child snuggled against her, murmuring, “Yes, Auntie.”
Today the train was nothing like as full as it had been last time Adelaide had travelled to Amiens. To her dismay a German officer also got into the compartment, who, from his insignia, Adelaide knew to be a captain in the SS. It was enough to deter others from joining them and when the train finally pulled out of the station they were the only people in the compartment.
For a while they all sat in silence, and then, trying to sound natural, Adelaide began to talk to Julien, pointing out things from the window as they chugged along.
“Look, Olivier,” she said, “there’s a market down there. Can you see all the people? Olivier, look at the man fishing! Look, Olivier, there’s a dog chasing some sheep. What a bad dog he is!”
“Would your little boy like some chocolate?”
The question jerked Adelaide’s attention from the world beyond the railway carriage, back to the officer, sitting opposite.
“I’m sorry, Monsieur?” Adelaide kept her voice even and polite.
“I said, would your little boy like some chocolate? I have some here.” He held out a bar of chocolate, still in its wrapping.
“You’re very kind,” Adelaide began, “but…”
“Please, Madame, take it for him.” The captain smiled, still holding out the chocolate.
“Thank you,” Adelaide said. “You’re very generous.” She took the chocolate and broke a piece off. As she handed it to the child she reminded him to be polite. “Say thank you, Olivier.”
“Yes, Auntie,” Julien replied dutifully, but he didn’t say thank you. Adelaide popped the piece of chocolate into his mouth so that he wouldn’t say anything else, before speaking herself. “I’m sorry, he’s very shy.”
“I know how it is,” the man agreed. “I have a son of my own about the same age, Kurt. When you want him to be quiet he never stops, prattling on about anything and everything, but when you want him to speak up he goes all shy.”
Adelaide tried to hand back the rest of the chocolate bar, but the soldier shook his head. “No, keep it. Give him some more later… or have some yourself.”
Adelaide smiled. “Thank you. I’ll keep it for him. It’ll be a special treat.” She settled Julien more comfortably on her lap, and turned her head again to the window.
“Are you going to Amiens?” asked the German.
“Yes.” Adelaide was extremely unwilling to be drawn into conversation with the man, but neither did she want to arouse his suspicions. “Yes, we are.”
“To visit family?”
Adelaide hesitated, better not to invent family and come unstuck somehow, better to stick with the cover story. After all it was perfectly feasible, and she need not show him the letter.
“No,” she replied. “I am taking my nephew to the hospital. He has something wrong with his eyes.”
“Oh, poor child, he does look very pale. My son Kurt is very strong, and big for his age.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a creased photograph showing a woman smiling into the camera, a young boy held in her arms, reaching out towards the photographer with one hand, the other firmly round his mother’s neck. “He will have a brother or sister very soon.”
It was clear to Adelaide that the German was homesick for his family and she encouraged him to talk about them, thus directing the conversation away from her and Julien. When at last the train steamed into Amiens Station she felt she knew almost all there was to know about the man’s family and was very relieved that they had arrived.
She got to her feet, keeping firm hold on Julien’s hand. “OK, Olivier?”
“Yes, Auntie.”
The officer got up as well. “I have a car waiting for me here,” he said. “I will drive you to the hospital.”
“Oh, no, really, please don’t trouble,” Adelaide began, “we’ll be fine…”
“It’s no trouble, Madame,” he insisted, and getting down from the train ahead of her turned back to lift Julien down. The boy clung to Adelaide, his face buried in her skirt, and she could feel that he was rigid with fear. Very gently she reassured him. “It’s all right, Olivier. It’s all right.” She glanced up at the captain who still stood with his arms extended to take the boy.
“Thank you, Monsieur, but I can manage.”
As if he hadn’t heard her, the German reached up and pulled Julien out of her grasp and then set him down on the platform, before extending his hand to help her down as well.
“My car will be waiting outside,” he said. “Come along.”
Adelaide was about to protest again when she saw that there was a documents check at the barrier, so she simply gathered Julien up into her arms. “You’re very kind.” They followed the officer to the barrier and, when it was obvious that she was with him, followed in his wake when he was waved through. As they came out into the open she saw a sleek black car, similar to the one Colonel Hoch drove around in, and a chill ran through her. The waiting driver was leaning on the bonnet, but the moment he saw the captain he leapt to attention with a smart “Heil Hitler!” and opened the door.
The captain ushered them in ahead of him, and, unable to do anything else, Adelaide slid into the back seat and drew Julien safely into her arms. She broke off another piece of the precious chocolate and put it into his mouth, the wondrous taste silencing him. Adelaide could only pray that he stayed silent until they were set down. The captain gave some instructions to the driver and then got in beside them. As they drove through the streets, people averted their eyes from the car flying swastika flags. No one wanted to see who had been picked up this time.
“You really have been most kind,” Adelaide said when they reached the hospital and the car came to a halt. She opened the door and put Julien out onto the pavement. Slipping out herself, she turned back and smiled at the captain, still sitting, she thanked God, in the back of the car. “Thank you very much, Monsieur.”
It was with profound relief that she shut the door and saw the car slide away to disappear round the corner. Taking Julien’s hand she moved quickly away from the hospital doorway, and turned into a side street, for fear that the car could simply be turning round and might come back the same way.
“Not far, Olivier,” she said brightly as they set off along the narrow street. “OK?”
“Yes, Auntie,” came the dutiful reply.
And he’s only four, thought Adelaide despondently.
Father Bernard greeted them warmly, and Julien was soon ensconced in Madame Papritz’s kitchen.
“Any problems?” asked the priest quietly as they watched the little boy tuck into yet more food.
Adelaide told him about the German who had been so kind to Julien.
“They’re not all monsters,” Father Bernard said with a sigh. “Many of them are perfectly decent men who’d rather be at home with their families.”
“Well,” replied Adelaide, “I was thinking how ironic it would be, if we’d been caught because of a German officer’s kindness.” She thought of the dark, ruthless face of Colonel Hoch and shuddered. They were two very different men. “But he’d have changed his tune if he’d realised that he had an escaping Jew in his car.”
Though she had not eaten all day, Adelaide refused food from Madame Papritz. “I’ll eat when I get home again,” she said, loath to take any more of the household’s precious rations. “Here, you’d better have these,” and she handed over the two apples and half the remaining chocolate for Julien. The rest of it she kept to give Jacques, the next day.
“I should be back again tomorrow, if all goes well,” she promised the priest as she took her leave. “I can’t leave you the papers I have for Julien as I need them for Jacques tomorrow, but once he is safely here you can keep them.”
Father Bernard blessed her and wished her God’s speed, and she set off back to the station.
She reached the Launays’ farm without any problem and sat in the kitchen to eat the bean stew that Marie had made. She wished that she’d been going to see Marcel; to tell him how the journey had gone, about the captain and the chocolate. She had told the Launays nothing except that Julien was safe.
They, however, had plenty to tell her. As they’d thought, Étienne and Albertine had been arrested by the Germans, but had since been released. Gerard had met Étienne in the village and heard what had happened to them.
“The Germans came and searched the farm,” Étienne had said, “and then they dragged us up to the cottage. Virtually taken that apart they had, but we’d been back and cleared the loft, so there was no sign it had been used lately. They took us to their headquarters and that Major Thielen asked us some questions, whether we’d seen anyone near there, that kind of thing. We said we hadn’t seen anything, and eventually he let us go.”
“You can thank God it was Major Thielen who asked the questions,” Gerard said. “Different matter if it had been Hoch!”
“Have they been to you?” asked Étienne.
“Not yet,” replied Gerard glumly. “But no doubt they will.”
When he got home Gerard found German soldiers in the process of searching his farm and outbuildings. Marie was sitting on a chair in the kitchen, watched over by a young soldier holding a rifle. She leapt to her feet as Gerard came in and the young man shouted at her to sit down again.
“It is my husband,” Marie explained. The soldier motioned with the rifle to the other chair at the table, and Gerard sat down.
“How long have they been here?” Gerard asked softly.
“Not talk!” shouted the soldier, waving his rifle at them. “Not talk!”
The search of the farm revealed nothing, and with a warning that they should report any strangers they saw in the area, the soldiers departed to look elsewhere.
“But they’ll be back,” sighed Gerard. “And next time they’ll be looking for Fernand. It won’t be long before they realise he’s gone missing.”
As darkness fell, Adelaide was again crouched above the grating. She dropped the signal twigs through the grille and it was raised at once from below.
“He’s safe,” she said as Joseph Auclon’s head appeared. “Is Jacques ready?”
“Yes, he’s ready,” replied Joseph with a sigh. He ducked down into the cellar and moments later lifted his tearful second son out of the hole. With the admonition, “Remember, do what Mademoiselle Antoinette tells you,” he lowered his head again and Adelaide was able to slide the grating into place. The little boy stood beside her, shaking, as she hid the entrance again. Then she took his hand and led him quickly away. As they hurried past the convent, a pale face looked down from a window. Intent upon reaching the shelter of the trees, Adelaide didn’t look up, didn’t see the eyes watching her from its shadows.
“We must be very quiet, Jacques,” Adelaide whispered once they were hidden among the trees. She crouched down so her face was at his level and murmured to him. “Don’t be scared, Jacques. Just be a good boy and hold my hand.”
“I want Maman,” wailed the child, his voice reedy and thin, but oh so loud in the darkness.
Adelaide put her arms round him and hugged him tightly. “I know you do, chéri, and you’ll see her very soon, I promise. But now you have to come with me so we can go and find Julien.” She reached into her pocket and found a small piece of the chocolate she had saved for him. “Here, try this.” She slipped the square into his mouth and at once his crying ceased as he tasted the sweetness. “Come on, now,” she whispered.
They reached the farm without meeting anyone and it was with relief that Adelaide handed the little boy over to Marie who gave him hot food, something he hadn’t had for months, before they bathed him and put him to bed, where, like his twin the previous night, he fell asleep at once.
In the morning Adelaide dressed him and did his hair. She taught him the “OK Olivier?” game, and although he still had a tendency to be tearful, she put him onto the back of the bicycle and set off. When they reached the station in Albert, they found there was a check being made on all papers. Adelaide bought their tickets and then waited well clear of the barrier in the hope that the checkpoint would be closed before she needed to go through. She was out of luck. The man in the ticket office had said that a train was due very soon, and she couldn’t risk missing it. Heaven only knew when there’d be another.
She knelt down and spoke to Jacques. “We’re going onto the platform now, Olivier,” she said gently, and when the child didn’t react she paused. “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Jacques,” he replied.
“No, chéri, not today. Your name is Olivier, remember? Olivier.”
“Olivier,” the child repeated obediently. Then he looked across at the gendarmes who were checking the papers. “I don’t like those men.”
Adelaide felt her heart beat faster, but she soothed as calmly as she could. “They’re nice men. They won’t hurt you… but if they ask you your name what will you say?”
“Jacques,” replied the boy, a note of surprise in his voice.
Adelaide was at her wits’ end. They had to pass the barrier and the checkpoint, she could only hope they wouldn’t speak to Jacques at all. She gave him another piece of chocolate.
She joined the queue and when at last her turn came she was faced with a bespectacled, elderly man who looked at her and addressed her gruffly. “Well, who have we got here?” He took her proffered papers and glanced at them.
“Hold my hand, Olivier,” she said sharply, as she felt the little boy move behind her. “We don’t want you to get lost.”
The man looked up, still holding their papers. “Where are you going, Mademoiselle?”
“To Amiens, Monsieur,” Adelaide answered, and when he appeared to be waiting for more knew she must explain. “Olivier has to go to the hospital there.”
“Why the hospital there? Why not the one here?” The man peered at her through his thick spectacles.
“He has something wrong with his eyes,” she replied. “He has to see the eye specialist there.” She waited. The man still held their papers, but she could hear the train chuffing into the station behind her. When he didn’t hand them back she pressed him. “Please, Monsieur, we shall miss the train.”
The man grunted and handed the papers back. “Go on,” he said, and removing his glasses rubbed his own red-rimmed eyes. “Get him to his eye doctor, or he’ll end up with eyes like mine.”
Almost weak with relief, Adelaide dragged Jacques across the platform and bundled him into a carriage already full.
“There’s no room for two,” someone grumbled, but Adelaide responded immediately. “That’s all right, Olivier can sit on my knee.”
The journey to Amiens was uneventful. Adelaide sat crammed in between an old woman with a huge basket on her lap and a young thin man, whose elbow dug into her for much of the time. People got on and off at various stations, and by the time they reached Amiens, Adelaide had managed to secure a window seat and was able to amuse Jacques as she had Julien, pointing out things through the window. When the train pulled into the station, she clambered down with Jacques in her arms and moved towards the exit. There was no checkpoint there today and she was just breathing a sigh of relief that she was on the last step of her journey when a hand touched her arm. “Good morning, Mademoiselle. Here again?”
Adelaide spun round to find herself facing the German captain she’d met the day before. She felt the colour drain from her face, but the captain was bending down to speak to Jacques. “Hello, young man. And how are you today?”
Jacques simply stared at him, and the German went on. “Still too shy to talk, I see.” He turned his attention back to Adelaide, who was struggling to regain control of her features. “What did the doctor say yesterday?”
“He… he...er… had a look and then he put some drops into Olivier’s eyes. We have to go back again today so that he can look again.”
“I see, well let’s hope he can discover something this time, it’s a long way for you come each day.” He broke off, his attention diverted to someone or something behind Adelaide’s back. “Excuse me,” he murmured and strode off across the platform. Adelaide took Jacques by the hand and hurried him out of the station, only glancing back as they turned into the street. The captain was greeting another SS officer who had just got off the train. It was Colonel Hoch. He didn’t appear to have seen Adelaide, would probably not have recognised her at this distance anyway, but it was all she could do not to gather Jacques up into her arms and make a run for it. The same sleek black car was outside the station, the same driver leaning against it. Adelaide, walking as unhurriedly as she could, turned down the first side street she came to, fighting the urge for a backward glance, a glance that might have revealed her face to Hoch as he emerged from the station.
Once he was reunited with Julien, Jacques became a different child. He became animated, smiling and chatting in some sort of private language.
Perhaps, thought Adelaide as she watched them, they miss each other more than they do their parents. The close bond of twins. She hoped they did for she was pretty sure that they weren’t going to see their parents for a very long time… if ever.
“I’ll get them moved on to the convent in Paris as soon as I can,” Father Bernard said. “I have contacts who can do that for me.”
“I’ve only the one set of papers,” Adelaide reminded him.
“I know, but they’re a start and I can probably sort out another set, given time.”
“And when the parents come? If they come.”
“I’ll get them moved to a safe house,” said the priest. “We’ll try and get them there right away, but really nowhere’s safe for them these days.”
Adelaide slipped away without saying goodbye to the boys. They were sitting up at the table, prattling away to each other and she left them to Madame Papritz.
“Here’s something for them,” she said to Father Bernard, and handed over the last of the precious chocolate.