Chapter 37
W hen Lizzie had told Fabian and Judith during their walk in the forest that she meant to find a way to reach Jersey to check on their grandparents, her cousin stopped walking and stared at her as though she had lost her mind.
He said it was the definition of insanity, but as they discussed various possibilities, she saw he started to believe it could work. ‘The audacity and simplicity of the plan is its beauty.’
Fabian knew a French fisherman who made regular trips to Jersey as part of the controlled supply system. He was a childhood friend and was anti-Nazi so Fabian promised he would ask him to help. If he agreed, Lizzie could travel with him on one of his deliveries and they would make the arrangements.
A few days later, Lizzie arrived at the farmhouse two hours before she was due to meet the fisherman so she could transmit a message to Baker Street.
She knew Jack wouldn’t be happy about her going on such a dangerous trip, but a promise was a promise, and she had committed to updating him on her location.
After assembling the radio set, with Fabian watching closely, she showed him how to send the call signal, and they waited for a response in the dim underground storeroom. Judith kept watch over the front of the house from the window upstairs.
The musical sound of the beeps and buzzes signalled for Lizzie to go ahead, and she tapped out her message in Morse code, giving Fabian his first lesson in undercover radio transmission.
She had soon realised this was a chance to train Fabian to replace the missing radio operator.
He and Judith were determined to risk their lives anyway, so it made sense to help them develop their Resistance cell.
After she sent her message informing the SOE, she would travel to Jersey for urgent reconnaissance and should be back the following day, she was relieved to receive just a standard response and not a scathing reply from Jack.
They would pass the message to him, and he would be livid, but she hoped he would agree she had made the right decision when she returned with vital intelligence on the part Jersey was to play in the vast Atlantic Wall defence.
Her tangled emotions were calling her to the shores of Jersey to see her grandparents whilst she had the chance, but there was sound professional justification for her to infiltrate the island too.
Lizzie pushed away the feelings that threatened to engulf her when she thought of Jack in London scared for her life.
This was the moment to click into new mission mode and follow her head, not her heart.
If she thought too much about what was at stake if she failed in this unforeseen next step, she would fall apart.
Churchill and his War Cabinet were counting on her to bring home solid intelligence, and she intended to rise to the challenge, no matter the personal risk.
Fabian was transfixed by the coded radio system and asked her to teach him how to be as useful to the Allies as she obviously was.
Lizzie whispered, ‘God willing, I’ll be back soon, and I’ll need to send a message to organise my way home. You can watch again then.’
‘Is it very difficult to get the hang of?’ he asked.
‘It’s a skill and takes some practice. As we’re in the field, not in a secure training base, every practice run could get us killed, so we must be cautious.’
Fabian practiced dismantling and then rebuilding the radio set under Lizzie’s supervision, and she saw that his craftsmanship made him a natural operator.
‘You are good with your hands, so it makes sense for you to do this, but I must stress how dangerous it is. Only ever send a message with the radio crystals.’
Lizzie showed him how the crystals worked and withdrew the spare ones from her coat lining, leaving them with him for safekeeping.
‘What safe word shall we use if I send someone to contact you?’ she asked.
Fabian thought for a second and adjusted his cap. ‘How about Corsairs? ’
A smile crossed Lizzie’s lips. ‘Fitting. The pirates of St. Malo.’
Her cousin hugged her tightly before she left, and Judith wished her a safe trip, her brown eyes full of fear as she squeezed her hand in farewell.
Now, not long after her sunset cruise, Lizzie found herself back at sea, this time huddled in an old fishing boat lurching its way across the Channel from St. Lunaire towards the coast of Jersey.
The boat was a far cry from the luxury yacht, and her stomach was queasy from the constant rolling of the small vessel and the overpowering smell of fish.
The vessel rocked from side to side, and Lizzie thought about how she had hidden in the burly fisherman’s truck, and he had transferred her to the boat, camouflaged by his equipment.
‘I can’t thank you enough for this, Alain,’ she said, once he waved her out of hiding when they were clear of the harbour and on the open seas.
‘I must be mad.’ His voice was gruff, and Lizzie wondered if it was from the years of breathing in the salty air and the harsh conditions of his work.
He put her at her ease immediately when he had collected her from the farmhouse, under the guise of collecting a piece of restored furniture from Fabian. Alain had brought her a fisherman’s outfit so that if she was spotted, she would be disguised as crew.
‘I’m sorry for the trouble, but it will be worth your while. I left money with Fabian so you will have a good payday on your return.’
Alain switched his gaze briefly from concentrating on deploying his trawl nets, his eyes narrowing. ‘What happens if you’re not there when I come for you?’
‘If I’m not there by 9 a.m. tomorrow at the agreed spot, leave without me. Don’t endanger yourself any further than you already are.’
Alain twiddled with his compass. ‘But what about you?’
‘I will find my way out somehow. All going according to plan, we’ll return together, but if not, let Fabian know. He will understand.’
Alain raised a dark eyebrow, and she saw the order did not impress him. ‘You’re telling me, a proud Breton, to abandon a damsel in distress to the Boche in her hour of need?’
Lizzie laughed. ‘I appreciate your gallantry, Alain. But the war has changed things. Think of me less as a damsel in distress and more like an avenging angel.’
He joined her in laughter, and the gravelly sound echoed through the boat.
Lizzie’s compact frame swayed from side to side on the hard wooden fish box, and she was tossed about on the spring tides, huddling near the cabin to shelter from the violent gushes of seawater that frequently hit the open boat.
She thought about the brave people she had met on her missions. People she would never have known if it weren’t for the war throwing them together in the most dangerous situations. Alain was one.
‘If you want to help, there are other ways.’ Lizzie said softly as she gazed out to sea.
‘Oh yes, how?’ He jumped to his feet and walked around the boat checking all was in order, before standing in front of her. ‘What do you have in mind?’
‘You have heard of the Resistance, I take it?’
He nodded. ‘Who hasn’t?’
‘Well, it is the most dangerous way to pass the war, but if you can deal with the risk, speak to Fabian about helping him with the Corsairs. He’ll know what you mean.’
Alain’s gaze lingered on her, and then he nodded briskly, saying no more.
‘It’s very quiet out here,’ Lizzie said, sometime later. ‘I imagined we’d be stopped at a checkpoint, and I’d have to hide.’
‘It’s hit and miss but often quiet around mealtimes. We’ve been lucky so far. Remember to duck and then hide in the fish crates in the hold the second I raise the alarm. It could happen at any moment.’
Lizzie was cold, and her fisherman’s clothes were heavy and damp, but adrenaline raced through her veins as every mile brought her closer to Jersey.
She could barely believe it was happening.
When she’d set out from London, it hadn’t even occurred to her she would travel home to Seagrove, but now it seemed inevitable.
She imagined Jack striding into the cipher room and reading her message, a thunderous expression on his handsome face.
Please God, help me complete this mission successfully and deliver me back to London, to Jack, and watch over all the special people who have made this mission possible.
Lizzie thought of her grandparents, and the condition she might find them in.
Fabian warned her to be prepared. After two years of living under German occupation at their age, they might not be in the best of health.
He, too, was deeply concerned and said he’d had many a sleepless night wondering what had become of them.
Alain was not a man of many words, and she sat silently, thoughts running through her mind, thinking through what she would do when she landed.
On the one hand, one night wasn’t long to search for her grandparents and gather intelligence. Conversely, one night for a British spy infiltrating a Nazi-occupied island that was only nine by five miles in size, was quite long enough to get herself shot by a firing squad.
Lizzie trembled with a combination of the damp cold seeping into her bones and the sheer terror washing over her at what she was about to do.
She glanced at her watch.
‘Will we be there shortly?’ she asked.
Alain confirmed they would. ‘Soon we’ll approach the coast, and you’ll have to go below. They might just wave us through, but in the worst-case scenario, they’ll board the boat and do a thorough check.’
Lizzie’s heart thudded so hard she struggled to breathe.
‘Here, take a swig of this. You’re going to need it,’ he said, handing her a flask of brandy.
The strong liquid burned her throat and warmed her chest. The sun was setting and the light fading, casting shadows all around them as they chugged across the sea.
‘It will still be light when we dock at St. Helier. You stay in hiding, and I’ll head back out as soon as I can.’
Lizzie glimpsed Elizabeth Castle in the distance, and it hit her she was finally going home.
What would her mother say if she could see her now?
Alain barked, ‘The checkpoint is up ahead, get in the hold!’
Lizzie crawled below deck, and the fishy smell from the crates clawed at her senses, overwhelming her, and she almost wretched as the boat stopped at the checkpoint and she heard German voices.