The Queen's Accomplice (Maggie Hope Mystery #6)(68)

“Thank you for a wonderful mass, Father Kappler,” she said as the crowd dissipated.

The priest took in her shorn head and scarf and took an involuntary step back. “Thank you, Fr?ulein,” he murmured, recovering. “May the peace of Christ be with you.”

“And also with you, Father Kappler. It is I—Elise Hess. I worked closely with Father Licht—”

The priest glanced around to make sure no one had overheard. “We do not speak his name here,” he whispered.



“Why not? He was a good man. A great man. A great priest.” People were beginning to stare, and Elise ignored them. “We should be celebrating Father Licht’s life and raising our voices in protest against his death—”

Father Kappler looked to a few Brownshirts at the church doors. At his glance and the sound of a rising voice, they began to walk over.

But before they reached Elise, Captain Fausten appeared at her side. “Thank you, Father,” he stated, pulling Elise’s arm through his. “Fr?ulein Hess isn’t feeling well. I’m sure you’ll understand if I take her home now.”

Father Kappler’s worried eyes took in his SS uniform and rank. “Of course, Captain. Heil Hitler!”

“Heil Hitler!”

—

“Are you insane?” Fausten hissed as they walked down the front steps.

“St. Hedwig’s is my church. My home. My sanctuary.” Where once tears would have flowed, now Elise’s eyes were dry. “Father Licht, my priest—my hero—is dead after being taken away to Dachau—and I’m not supposed to even acknowledge his existence? I’m not supposed to speak his name?”

“No.” Fausten’s face was shuttered like a Wannssee villa closed for the winter. “He is now considered a traitor to the Reich, and the less you say about him—the less you think about him—the better.”

“He will be sainted.”

“Maybe.” Fausten exhaled. “Someday.”

“Years from now, we will pray to Saint Licht. And the Father Kapplers of the world will be either reviled or forgotten.”



“In the meantime, Fr?ulein, I strongly advise you to keep quiet.”

As they walked down Behrenstrasse, their breath made white mist in the frigid air. The church bells rang, their silvery music cutting through the chill. But even though Elise was physically home, in the city where she grew up and lived all her life, she felt incredibly alone.

Who are these people? What have they done with everything I’ve ever known and loved about my city—my country? And her heart was filled with longing. For kindness, for peace on earth, for goodwill toward man. Where has it gone? How did it disappear so fast? Will it ever return? She looked up to the cloudy gray sky, searching for some sort of answer. There was nothing.

Elise gave Fausten a sideways glance. “What are you doing?”

“I’m walking you back to the Adlon.”

“Why? Am I under surveillance?”

He smiled. “No, I am a proper German gentleman. I will see you home.” They walked together in silence. “I had no choice, you know,” Fausten offered. “I didn’t choose this way of life. I went to law school, before I was conscripted. I wanted to be a lawyer. But not for the rich—to defend the poor.”

“So, you’re educated. That fact makes it even worse. For it makes you not only arrogant but also willfully ignorant. You should have known better. You should know better now.”

Fausten stopped her. “I’m not your enemy, Fr?ulein Hess.”

Elise gave a bitter laugh. “Of course you are.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck. “No, you don’t understand—I am Alexander Fausten. My favorite book is The Magic Mountain. My favorite composer is Bach, especially the Brandenburg Concertos. My favorite opera is The Magic Flute. I love mountain climbing and Pfannkuchen filled with plum jam. I love playing the violin but have no sense of pitch. I don’t always believe in God, but I go to church and try, every single Sunday. My mother, I’ll have you know, loves me and thinks I’m a great catch for any young German woman. I’m a person. I want you to see me as a person, not this uniform.”



“Not like a Jew? Not like a Pole? Not like a ‘rabbit’? Of course your mother loves you. I’m sure Hitler’s mother loved him. But—let me ask you this—how can you believe in God, at least try, and do what you’re doing?”

“I am many things and one of them is honest, Fr?ulein. Blunt, even. And I will tell you now, in all honesty, that in these times you must learn to be quiet and play the game—or else you’ll end up back at Ravensbrück.”

“Would it be the worst thing?” Elise turned away.

Fausten caught up with her easily. “Well, yes. Your chances of survival there are low, despite your Aryan blood.”

“Would it be worth betraying Father Licht? All those dead children? All those parents who grieve now, whose children are dust in the wind or lying in unmarked graves?”

“Would Father Licht really want to see you die?”

“Why doesn’t the Pope protest about the roundups and the camps, do you think? It’s been bothering me—why doesn’t he speak out?” Snowflakes began to swirl, catching on Elise’s eyelashes.