Swiss Vendetta (Agnes Luthi Mysteries #1)(72)

With a feeling near to waking, Agnes had a revelation about the theft. Walking from the open grave, she reminded herself that she also needed to lay Felicity Cowell to rest.





Twenty-seven

The nurse swept an appraising look around the room. “He thinks he’s stronger than he is, don’t tire him.”

Agnes took a step nearer Arsov’s bed. “He can hear me?”

The nurse, never eager to praise, had informed her that this was what she had expected. Arsov had regained consciousness and would recover. To Agnes, the recovery seemed like a miracle. The old man was propped against pillows, his eyes half-opened.

“I’ve been dreaming,” he said.

Agnes glanced out the large window to the open grave where they found the skeleton and was thankful he couldn’t see the place from bed. Despite what the nurse said, Arsov looked weak. The marquise was right: he didn’t need news of death. Even a death decades old.

“I came to return your book,” she said, extracting the diary from her coat. “I didn’t mean to take it…” She stopped herself before mentioning the reason she had accidentally slipped it into her pocket.

“Hers,” he said, stretching out a hand. “Her story. I was dreaming of her.”

Agnes held the book out but he motioned her away. “Read to me,” he said.

She hesitated before taking a chair. These were very personal writings. With a glance at the old man she flipped the diary open and selected a page at random. “The date is April and this is what is written.” She looked up to see if he was serious, then began:

“I have had so many moments of panic and terror and then, today, the worst happened.”

She stopped. This was not a soothing story. However, there was a faint smile on Arsov’s lips, so she continued.

“I stepped from the bakery with the boys holding my hands and a tall German ordered me to halt. You cannot imagine what those words sound like in his foul tongue. He did not even bother to speak French! I tried to squeeze the boys’ hands reassuringly, but I felt my knees knock together and I was afraid I would blurt out either an obvious lie or refuse to answer a routine question.”

Agnes turned the fragile page carefully.

“I don’t remember what he asked or how I answered. All I could see were the trucks taking us away to the work camps.”

Agnes drew in a sharp breath. Arsov tapped his hand impatiently on the bedcover. She continued reading.

“I would have failed my brother and Anthony and his parents and everyone I love. Then, just when I thought we were lost, a long black car pulled up and the door opened and She stepped out. She wore high heels and a long black skirt with a fur around her shoulders and I think she is the most elegant person I have ever seen.”

Agnes smiled. This had to be Madame. Clearly Arsov and Anne-Marie shared an admiration for her. She kept reading.

“Her hat was at a perfect angle with a long feather running off the brim and everyone on the street stopped to watch. The stupid German didn’t notice her coming behind him until she spoke. It was in his nasty Boche language; however, I can’t describe it, when she spoke it almost sounded beautiful.”

Arsov stretched his hand to the edge of his bed, running his fingers carefully as if searching for something. “Is she gone?” he murmured. “Dragon nurse? Is she gone?”

“I can get her.” Agnes rose.

“No, in drawer. A cigarette.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

“You think I worry about health at my age? Give me cigarette.”

Agnes reached forward and opened the drawer, spying the hand-rolled cigarettes cradled in a silver box. She held one for him and lit it after removing his oxygen tube and shoving the tank away. She felt like a schoolgirl again: positive she would get in trouble with the headmistress but unable to stop herself. Hopefully Nurse Brighton would stay away until he finished. Hopefully he wouldn’t die without the oxygen.

“Read,” Arsov said, eyes closed and fingers clutched around the rolled white paper. A small hazy ring hovered above him. “Read. This is one of my favorite parts. I can hear her voice in the words. I can feel our paths coming together. This is what led her to me. The moment that changed my life.”

Agnes opened the diary and found her place. “‘I still don’t know what she said to le Boche,’” she continued reading,

“but he gave me a look that should have pushed me into the curb, then he turned and walked away. I thought I would faint with fear, and she said to me in a low voice: Get in the car. And, like that, I knew we were saved. The boys were so overwhelmed they sat holding hands in the backseat, ogling the fine furnishings of the interior. Madame didn’t speak or ask me any questions; it was as if she already knew the answers, and we drove to the apartment where I was living and she told me what to do in a few short sentences. She kept the boys in the car while I ran through our tiny rooms, collecting things to take with me.”

Agnes held the place with her finger. “Madame is the woman you told me about. Who taught you to survive?”

“Read.”

“It seems silly that I trusted her so quickly; after all, she spoke German and could have been in collusion with them. Wouldn’t that be like a fairy tale: the beautiful woman who bewitches the children and takes them away? But that is not what happened. We had so few things of value, only a few changes of clothes and a toy or two, photographs. I ran back out to the big black car, threw our cases in the back and sat on the seat beside her while she drove us out of town. Not toward the chateau, which is where I now know Madame lives, but in the other direction, south toward the next village. The boys had fallen asleep, and Madame had me cover them with a blanket from head to toe.