The Queen's Accomplice (Maggie Hope Mystery #6)(32)

Foth put his palms together. “Elise Hess, you are released.” Then, “Well, get ready! Schnell! In ten minutes, I want you out of here! Take her! Get her cleaned up!”

—



Frau Jaeger led Elise to the warehouse where all the prisoners’ clothing was stored, sorted, and meticulously labeled. When Elise saw her old clothes—her underthings, a floral linen dress and cotton sweater and high-heeled sandals—she thought once again she was in a dream. She remembered them, and yet did not—so much had happened since the summer and it seemed so long ago—although in reality it had been less than a year since she’d arrived at Ravensbrück.

Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on her uniform, but they were too swollen, too bruised. When Frau Jaeger saw, she helped Elise undress, as though she were now a small child instead of a prisoner. Elise stood very still, frightened by the change in Frau Jaeger’s demeanor. The summer dress, once tight, hung off her gaunt frame.

“Before the war, my parents took me to Berlin,” Frau Jaeger said in a kind, low voice. She was hunting for something—and procured a silk scarf with a smile, the like of which Elise had never seen from her before. “This will cover your head until your hair grows out,” she added. “And here’s a pair of thick tights. And a wool coat.”

“Thank you,” Elise responded, accepting the items, trying not to imagine what had happened to their former owner.

Frau Jaeger continued to help her dress, as if she were a doll. Not gentle, but not rough, either. “We lived in Dortmund,” she prattled, “but my family and I went to the opera in Berlin once, when I was thirteen. Such a grand occasion!” She paused, savoring the memory. “We saw your mother in the role of Isolde—oh, she was so beautiful! And your father conducted. So romantic!”

Elise didn’t know what to say. She managed “Oh.”

It was impossible for her to put her old shoes on—not only were they strappy sandals but her feet were too swollen for them to fit.



And so Frau Jaeger found her large-size men’s bedroom slippers, which would have to do. “When I heard the famous opera star Clara Hess was your mother, you can bet I wrote and told everyone in my family!” Frau Jaeger eased Elise’s feet into the black slippers. “They were impressed, let me tell you.”

“Oh.”

Frau Jaeger’s face fell. “I was so sorry to hear of her death.”

“What?”

“Don’t you know? She died, from wounds she received while protecting Germans on a train to Switzerland. Your mother is a national hero. That’s why you’re being released—to attend the memorial service.”

Elise was silent. She’d wondered what happened to Clara on the train they’d all taken—she, Clara, and her father—from Berlin to Zurich, and now her suspicions were confirmed. Clara was dead.

“I’m sorry.” Frau Jaeger’s brows were knit with concern. “I thought you knew. I thought they’d told you.”

“It’s all right,” Elise assured her, although she felt nothing inside. How odd, to be comforting this Nazi creature when it’s my mother who has died. “Really—it’s fine.” And, for the moment, it was. She was too numb to take the thought in.

Frau Jaeger blinked back tears and sniffed. “Now we must go back. There are many forms for you to sign.”

—

Back at the camp’s main office, Elise struggled to write with her damaged hand. One of the forms she signed stated, The released inmate is never allowed to talk about camp life, the setup of the camp, camp punishments, and other events. Frau Jaeger was happy to explain: “If we discover you’ve said or written anything about the events in the camp, you will be immediately transported back by the Gestapo and receive fifty to a hundred lashes. You wouldn’t want that, would you?



“In Berlin, you will be able to attend the memorial service planned for your mother. You will also go to the office of the Gestapo. There, you will sign official documents to denounce Father Licht and exonerate the doctors of Charité Mitte, including Dr. Brandt.”

Like hell I will, Elise thought.

The last form she signed stated she had been released from the camp in good health and would lay claims of no kind upon the state in regard to possible future sicknesses. As a trained nurse, she knew all too well the damage her body had suffered, and what it boded for her health in the future—should she even live to see the future. But she signed the paper anyway.

In the office, Elise saw another political prisoner, not more than thirty, as tangible as a ghost. The two exchanged glances for a brief moment, but didn’t dare speak. The other woman gave the slightest nod.

Elise smiled back.

And then, in less than ten minutes’ time, Elise found herself being walked by Frau Jaeger to Ravensbrück’s high guarded gates. There, Frau Jaeger exchanged a few words with the SS guard on duty. “I’ll take you to the station,” she informed Elise.

Elise wanted nothing more than to walk alone, and certainly not to be accompanied by the guard—but she acquiesced, mute. Frau Jaeger began walking, and Elise followed, the borrowed black slippers sliding through the slippery white snowflakes. She had a suitcase of the things she’d arrived with in one hand and her papers in the other. She was leaving.