Page 61 of Whispers At Dawn
They eased him down onto the ground and took a few moments to regain their strength. Jack passed the flask around and they all had a sip of brandy.
‘Seagrove, light the lantern, please,’ Jack said, shining his torch onto a chest by the cavern wall.
Lizzie held the lantern, and the men picked the heavy weight up again. The airman let out a squeal like a wounded animal as they lifted him back onto his feet.
Jack said, ‘Shh,’ as they moved further into the bowels of the cellars.
‘When we are deeper inside, you can make some noise,’ he whispered. A few minutes later, he said, ‘This is it.’
He ran his hand along a wall and pushed hard in a particular spot. There was a small cracking sound, and the wall creaked and moved.
Lizzie’s mouth gaped. She would never have guessed there was an entrance within the thick wall. Jack opened it further, and the men lurched through into a musty smelling room.
‘It’s not the Ritz, but I’m afraid it’s the only place we can keep you safe. There are blankets, pillows, medical supplies, food and drink, so you’ll be alright. Try to get some sleep.’
Jack placed the lantern on a crate in the corner, and Lizzie saw the alarm in the eyes of the English airman. ‘What about Billy?’ he whispered to Jack, loud enough for Lizzie to hear.
‘We’ll make him as comfortable as we can for tonight. We’re working on getting him a doctor.’ Jack patted his shoulder.
After they positioned Billy on a mattress on the stone floor, Jack said they would return the following day.
‘This is the safest place you can be until we can make arrangements to get you back to Blighty.’
Another grunt of agony resounded in the cavernous space and Lizzie wished they could take the poor man into the château and let him rest on a comfortable bed and have a doctor tend to him properly.
The panic in the airmen’s eyes clawed at Lizzie as they locked the door back into place. She prayed Billy would make it through the night and they would soon be on the next leg of their journey to the Pyrenees and into neutral Spain. Once there, the SOE would transport them safely back to England somehow.
Their orders were to set up a reliable system with a fully operational Resistance network, to get as many airmen out as possible. ‘There will be many more,’ Val had said ominously. ‘If we leave them in Vichy France, we may as well issue them a death warrant. They will almost certainly be found and murdered, even if the locals are brave enough to hide them.’
Val told Lizzie the story of an airman who had been captured in a village near the city of Vichy a few weeks earlier. They tortured him and then shot him in the town square and put hishead on a spike like in medieval times. They also rounded up the couple who took him in and shot them, too. The message was clear. ‘If you help Allied airmen, this is how you will end up.’
Lizzie had been distraught. ‘That happened in Vichy France! I thought they were supposed to be neutral.’
Val had quickly dispelled any illusions Lizzie had clung to about the Vichy regime not being as tyrannical as the Nazis.
Outside the cellars, Lev nodded to Lizzie and Jack, then edged silently away.
Lizzie and Jack entered the château through the kitchen door they had left on the latch on their way out.
All was as silent as when they had left, and Lizzie’s heartbeat gradually slowed. Despite the acute suffering of the airman, she felt the familiar elation of a successful mission. They had done all they could for tonight.
Exhaustion crept over her, and she looked forward to climbing into bed and snatching a few hours’ sleep before the staff woke at daybreak.
Lizzie entered the kitchen first, and Jack locked the door behind him. A blurry shadow by the kitchen table moved, and she jumped. As her eyes adjusted, she made out a hooded, cloaked figure sitting on the bench beside the scarred wooden table where she often drank coffee in between jam and pie making.
Their face wasn’t visible, but the barrel of a gun was pointed at them and a gruff voice said, ‘You two had better tell me where you’ve been and what’s going on.’
CHAPTER 30
Armand Abadie awoke as the birds chattered noisily outside his window, hopping along the bedroom balcony railing overlooking an apartment building. The stale taste of tobacco and whisky lingered in his throat, and he immediately lit aGitanesas he studied the white plaster ceiling.
Recently, he switched from smoking Gauloises in his efforts to cultivate his image as a man of intellect and style. Briefly he had considered stopping smoking, but a life without one of his greatest pleasures seemed like no life at all.
He thought of the château and what it would be like to wake up and feast his eyes on the view of his city from the hill. One day, God willing, in the not-too-distant future, he would live in such a home. His mind skirted back to the events of the previous evening. The commissaire had sent a note to his office requesting his driving services again. A Gestapo officer would arrive from Paris that evening, and he had assigned Armand to be his personal driver for the duration of his stay.
Despite not enjoying being relegated to the position of chauffeur, he was honoured to have been selected for the role. Armand knew there were many at the Legion who would jump at the chance to ingratiate themselves with the commissaire, notto mention become acquainted with a high-ranking Nazi official. There were constant machinations between Legion members, who tried to figure out ways to get noticed and rise through the ranks of the organisation faster. They worked closely with the police, and all knew the Legion was destined to play a big part in the future of the new France.
Armand brewed some coffee on the stove and laid out a clean shirt to wear under his uniform. He must look his finest today. First impressions were critical, and if he wanted to make a mark on the Gestapo officer, this would be his big opportunity. The commissaire told Armand he would notify him as soon as the date and time for dinner at the château was confirmed, for he would need to be available to drive their guest. Armand wondered whether he would drive them both. Being a fly on the wall for the conversation between the commissaire and his esteemed guest might indeed prove to be fascinating.
