The House at Mermaid's Cove(82)
My mouth went dry as I read the report. Someone had betrayed us. The Germans knew all about the clandestine runs between Cornwall and Brittany. Not only did they know, they had taken drastic action to destroy the escape route: “Following the information received, a bombing raid was carried out yesterday in the Isles of Scilly, and much damage was done to boats in New Grimsby harbor.” Frantically I searched for the date the newspaper had come out. Monday, June 28—two days ago.
My heart hammered as I saw it in my mind’s eye. The peace of New Grimsby Sound shattered as German planes screamed overhead raining destruction, fire ripping through the hull of La Coquille, her engine exploding in a plume of black smoke. He wouldn’t have been there, would he? Not four days before the new moon?
“C’est un coup terrible, je sais.” It’s a terrible blow, I know.
I couldn’t reply. My throat was paralyzed.
She told me not to be afraid, that all the nuns were praying for me and for the safety of the brave souls who had risked their lives to save others. As she spoke, I felt as if I were hovering above my own body, looking down at myself, nodding like an automaton. She was saying that I could stay on at the convent—that as I had never formally left the Sisters of Mary the Virgin, I could resume the religious life in Brittany, if I chose—and that to try to get back to England now would be impossible.
I stared, stupefied, into her pale, kind eyes. Was this God’s judgment? For going my own way and telling myself it was what he wanted? A voice inside me screamed. Punish me, then! But just let Jack be alive.
Chapter 25
That night I lay awake, watching the curtains surrounding my bed fade to gray with the dying light. No matter how many times I told myself that Jack wouldn’t have been aboard La Coquille when it was bombed, I couldn’t help fearing the worst. The times of our departure had varied, depending on the tide and the weather conditions: on our first mission, we’d reached the Scillies two days before the new moon, but the second time it had been a whole day earlier. If a storm had been predicted for that crucial time of darkness, Jack might have headed for New Grimsby in advance of it. I prayed with all my heart that he hadn’t.
The worst thing was not knowing. There was no way of finding out unless I risked a journey to Kermaria to find Josef Auffret—and that would put him in danger as well as myself. The thought of going on living at the convent, agonizing over Jack, was unbearable. I knew with absolute certainty that I couldn’t return to my old life. The person I had been before the shipwreck was gone forever. It wasn’t only Jack that I yearned for. I longed for Mermaid’s Cove—for the salt tang of the breeze and the sound of the waves, for the lush valley and the warbling of birds in the green canopy of leaves, for Ned’s laughter as he stamped through snowdrifts of fallen petals, for cozy evenings chatting with Merle in the library. Cornwall called to me like a siren. I had to get back. But how?
The next morning, I asked to see Mère de Saint-Philippe. I had to tell her that I couldn’t stay at the convent—that no matter what the danger, I had to find a way of getting back to England. During the night I’d come up with a plan. If I could go south to Spain, a neutral country, I could find a boat that would take me back to England. But for that I would need money. The only option was to beg for a loan, to be repaid on my return. I knew it was a lot to ask: the money they had was meant for much more worthy purposes, and if anything happened to me along the way, they might never get the loan back. But I was desperate.
The Mother Superior listened to my request without interruption. When I’d finished explaining she sat silently contemplating for a moment before she spoke.
“Cet homme—êtes-vous amoureux de lui?”
My breath caught in my throat. She wanted to know if I was in love with Jack. Was I so transparent? “I . . .” I dropped my head. She must think me very weak—and that I had strayed very far from the vows I’d taken. I looked up at her, shamefaced. But before I could frame any reply, she said something equally unexpected: that being in love with Jack didn’t mean that I loved God less.
“L’amour entre un homme et une femme est sacré aussi,” she said. The love between a man and a woman is holy, too.
It felt as though she were giving us her blessing, as if she somehow knew that Jack was alive and that, with her help, I could reach him. She said that she would have to discuss the question of a loan with the senior sister who dealt with the finances. I kissed her hand as I left the room, not knowing what was about to unfold: that within hours I would be leaving the convent without so much as a centime in my pocket.
I was feeding supper to one of the elderly ladies in the infirmary when Sister Therèse, the nun who had helped me dress for my mission with the Resistance, came to find me. She told me that someone was waiting to see me in the nuns’ recreation room. When I asked her who it was, she put her finger to her lips. She took the spoon from my hand and motioned for me to go.
I made my way along the passageway that connected the infirmary to the main part of the convent, wondering if the Mother Superior had somehow already got word to the Resistance that I needed to get to Spain. Merle had told me that there was a whole network of teams operating across occupied France, with established escape routes overland, as well as by sea. Perhaps the person waiting for me would be able to tell me how to find a courier who was heading south.