Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
MARGOT
The candles were flickering in the cellar again as Margot and her friends sat in a circle once more.
But one chair stood empty and Margot couldn’t bear to move it out.
She rocked Isabelle on her knee. It was the first book club meeting since Esther’s death, and her friends’ faces were pale, their eyes reddened.
They had all agreed that they’d help Margot care for Isabelle, moving her from house to house through the tunnels. Henriette had taken a notepad and a stubby pencil from her pocket and together they’d decided a schedule.
‘I will never forget her,’ Sylvie said, her voice strained.
She fidgeted with the cuff of her coat. ‘We used to sit together for hours, chatting and gossiping as we sewed. She was so talented, you know. I told her, she should’ve gone to Paris – she would’ve found work at one of the couturiers.
But she said her heart belonged here, in Cordeval. ’
Sylvie stopped talking and dug in her pocket for a handkerchief. Margot knew exactly how she felt, because she was struggling to put a dear friend’s life into a few words. She couldn’t speak; her throat was tight with tears.
‘She used to come and help me if she saw me picking wildflowers on the cliff path,’ Colette reminisced with a sad smile. ‘Can’t bear the thought of going up there now.’
Margot would have to make sure that these stories were preserved somehow, so that one day Isabelle would come to know her mother. She had a pretty notebook upstairs with flowers on the cover; it’d be perfect to write all the stories in.
With a gentle smile, Aunt Sandrine offered Sylvie her own handkerchief, which she took and dabbed at her eyes.
The silence was broken by the sound of the door that led to the tunnels opening, ushering in the familiar scent of salty damp and the cool breeze that flowed through the village from the sea beyond.
Beatrice slipped into the cellar, followed by her mother, who was scarcely lit by the candle flames before Aunt Sandrine was out of her seat.
‘How dare you come here?’ she snapped, jabbing her finger at Joséphine. ‘It’s because of that monster in your bed that this child has no mother!’
‘Don’t say that to her!’ Beatrice said fiercely, reaching out to cling to her mother’s hand. ‘You don’t know—’
Joséphine hushed her daughter as Aunt Sandrine turned to the other women and said, ‘She’ll have us all shot if he’ll buy her another mink for the information!’
Margot got to her feet, still cradling Isabelle, who had started to whine. ‘Auntie, please—’ The other women glared at Joséphine, their pale faces taut with anger. ‘You must understand – Joséphine was her friend too. It’s not what you think.’
She caught Joséphine’s gaze, wondering if she should have said even that. But Esther had trusted the club enough to tell them that she and her husband were Chevalier. Perhaps Joséphine would trust them too.
‘He is a monster, you’re right,’ Joséphine said. ‘But he’s a monster who likes to show off; he’s a pillow talker, Sandrine. What he tells me, I tell to the resistance. Oh, I know what the women round here think of me. But I did what I had to, to care for my little girl.’
The tension in the cellar softened as the truth percolated through.
Madame Guerin swallowed. ‘It’s not easy, raising a kid on your own. You’ve got a big heart, Jo, and it’s full of courage.’
‘This village is riddled with gossips who think they know everything about everyone,’ Brigitte said. ‘And then they pass judgement as if they were all model citizens. Joséphine, you’re one of the bravest women I know.’
The doctor left her seat and took Joséphine’s hand.
‘She’ll never have to do what I did,’ Joséphine said, looking down at her daughter with a gentle smile. ‘Because she’ll have the education I didn’t. She’ll have the money I’ve made. She’ll be able to be whatever she wants to be.’
Beatrice smiled up at her mother, her eyes glistening with tears as she said, ‘One day, we’ll buy Petit’s and kick that handsy old sod out, won’t we, Mum?
’ Joséphine nodded and Beatrice released her hand and walked over to Margot and the baby, ‘And you lost your mum, Isabelle, but I’ll always be your sister. ’
Claudine was getting another chair to add to the circle for Joséphine, and Henriette was relighting a candle that had blown itself out, when Margot heard noises. Fear prickled across her skin.
Shouts were echoing in the tunnel. Heavy footsteps beat against the uneven floors.
Margot could hear a cacophony of voices, men and women, some German, some French.
It sounded as if the Nazis had somehow run down the resistance and sent them fleeing into the tunnels.
She saw Joséphine tense, then tell Beatrice, ‘Go home, Bea!’
‘They’re searching the houses!’ The voice that rang along the tunnels belonged to a French woman and was, Margot assumed, intended for anyone who could hear. ‘If you have anything you shouldn’t, get it hid!’
Margot was stiff with terror. She was sitting in a cellar among crates of banned books and a stack of maps for the resistance, with a group of women who were all breaking the curfew.
She glanced from face to face, and, when her gaze fell on Joséphine, she knew exactly what to do.
She got to her feet, with Isabelle in her arms. ‘Here’s what we’ll do – the SS aren’t going to search Petit’s bar.
Lauterborn’s too arrogant, he thinks he owns the place.
Joséphine – take everyone through that short tunnel that runs under the road to Petit’s cellar.
And take the banned books with you! There’s not many left now. ’
Somehow, she would hide Isabelle. For now, she put her in her basket so that she could help the others.
Bea’s eyes widened and she said, ‘Lauterborn’s got some of his luggage trunks stored in the cellar, me and the gang made a fort out of them.’ She bounced on her toes. ‘We can put the books in his own trunks, the last place he’ll ever look!’
‘She’s a smart one,’ Aunt Sandrine said as she stooped to pick up a box. ‘Come on girls, all for one and one for all!’
Everyone set to work: moving the chairs out of their telltale circle, blowing out the candles and pinching the smoking wicks, picking up the boxes of banned books. Soon there would be no sign that a clandestine meeting had ever taken place down here.
‘That’s everyth—’ Margot was interrupted by a sudden noise that reverberated through the tunnel. The echoes distorted it and it took her a moment to realise what she’d just heard: gunfire cracking in the tunnels.
Isabelle started awake in her Moses basket and her lip began to quiver as she let out a little mewl of distress.
‘We’ll take her,’ said Joséphine urgently, glancing towards the door as another warning was called out in French. It was a man this time, calling through the tunnels for people to stay safe. ‘But we have to go now, before they get here.’
Margot lifted the basket and passed it to Joséphine.
‘I know you’ll look after her,’ she said.
As Joséphine took the handles, Isabelle let out an ear-piercing wail and reached out her hand toward Margot.
The little girl’s eyes were wide and she gazed at Margot as huge tears rolled down her plump cheeks.
She wanted to be with Margot.
‘If she’s crying in the tunnels, it’ll echo,’ whispered Margot. ‘Everyone down there will hear her! I’ll just have to chance it and keep her here.’
‘Tell them you’re looking after her for one of the street girls along the coast,’ Joséphine said, picking up a box of maps and heading towards the door. ‘If they want to know who, send them over to me. It’ll buy us some time. Now come on!’
As she reached for the door to bolt it, it was suddenly flung open. Joséphine started back in surprise, just in time to avoid colliding with the Professor as he threw himself into the cellar.
‘The SS are crawling all over the tunnels and streets, searching the houses!’ he told them breathlessly.
Aunt Sandrine gave a firm nod and, like a general marshalling her troops, barked, ‘Come on ladies, let’s make a run for it.’ Then she rounded on Theo and said sternly, ‘If you cross us, Herr Professor, it’ll be the last mistake you make. This little one’s counting on you.’
With that, the book club filed through the door and along the tunnel that led away from the direction of the ever-closer noises. Joséphine was the last to leave. At the door she turned and dashed a kiss to Margot’s cheek.
‘They won’t find her,’ she whispered. ‘They won’t win.’
Margot’s heart was in her mouth as she drew the bolt across the door, sealing her friends into the tunnels. Would she ever see them again, and how could she keep Isabelle safe?