Assignment in Brittany (39 page)

Anne was coming back, walking slowly so that the pitcher of water which she carried would not spill over. There were two pink spots in her cheeks. She had heard part of their conversation about her, no doubt. Hearne was about to say. “Anne, why didn’t you tell us about the permit?” and then didn’t, as he noticed the way she avoided his eyes. She was
raising his shoulders so that he could drink, but she was watching the level of the water in the jug. If she hadn’t told him about the permit, then she had her reasons. If she didn’t want to explain them, then it was none of his business. Or, at least, he had no right to think it was. Perhaps she had preferred to stay at the Corlay farm rather than face the long journey to her aunt’s house, perhaps she had felt that Madame Corlay’s invitation would have been less warm if she knew about Saint-Brieuc as an alternative haven for Anne, perhaps it had been an oversight. And yet he found himself entertaining the fantastic hope that none of these explanations was the right one.

He said, “Enough, Anne. Thank you.” She still avoided his eyes. She lowered his head gently on to the mattress again, and pretended to smooth the blanket. The pink spots deepened in colour and flowed over her cheeks. Hearne was suddenly aware that Kerénor was watching them both, with a strange un-Kerénor look on his face. There was a pause in which each could feel the words they were all avoiding.

Hearne said quickly, “Think I’ll try to walk.” He raised himself on his left elbow, disarranging the blanket which had just been so carefully smoothed.

Kerénor was smiling openly now. “Better not,” he said. “You’ve no clothes, anyway. I had to cut what was left of them off you. We’ll have to find new ones. In any case, I want you to lie still today and save your strength for talking. I’ve some questions to ask you.” He was serious again. The amused smile twisted off his face, and his eyes watched Hearne anxiously.

“I haven’t finished my own,” Hearne replied. “How many people know about me?”

“Madame Corlay and Anne, Monsieur le Curé and myself.”

“How many know I am here?”

“The same again. We had to tell Madame Corlay. She was on the point of sending old Henri and his blunderbuss to rescue you. Much good that would have done, but both Madame Corlay and Henri were all set for action. So we had to tell her.”

“What about the three men who got me out of that hell-hole?”

“Back working on their farms after attending the procession.”

“And the three men with the two women?”

“They know nothing except the Germans weren’t to notice you going towards the church. They are the rest of our committee.”

“What committee?”

“Committee for the Preservation of Liberty, Equality Fraternity.” Kerénor was tensely serious. If Hearne had even looked about to smile, Kerénor would have struck him. But Hearne didn’t smile...there was something pathetically courageous in the formation of a committee for the preservation of France in this remote Breton village. Yet great oaks from tiny acorns...

Hearne said, “Good.”

Kerénor relaxed again. “Is that all you want to know?”

“I’d like to know what happened when the guards were changed in the town-hall cellar.”

“We were coming out of the church at the end of first Mass. It was almost six o’clock. Then systematised pandemonium broke loose. Squads of soldiers were summoned and herded us into the market-place. We were counted and listed like sheep. Just when I thought we were all to be arrested—and that would have been an interesting experience, but the Germans unfortunately thought better of it—we were all sent back for second Mass, and sentries
were posted all round the church. When they let us out at last, they had decided on their course of action. A large reward was posted for your capture. Grim warnings were published about the fate of anyone who helped or harboured you. Houses were all searched from cellar to attic. Patrols are everywhere: there’s a curfew for us all to go to bed early like the bad little boys we are. Then there is talk of hostages. But the only trouble is that, at present, they want to keep us co-operative—until the end of this month, anyway. You were right about the warnings you sent me through Anne. We are being manœuvred. I want you to give me the details about that.”

“I’ve still a question. How did these three men get into the town hall? Its entrance was heavily guarded.”

“As part of this German co-operation plan, a meeting had been planned for late that afternoon. If you hadn’t been arrested, you would no doubt have had to speak at it. We were all told to attend, and in accordance with our private plan we all went. The place was crowded. No Boches were present. Elise was there, and she had got Picrel to speak along with her. He’s trying to save the remnants of his business and to get his son out of the road gang. He didn’t know what he was doing. Elise had persuaded him it was the only sane and sensible thing. The trouble with Picrel is that he has got accustomed to having more than his share of the village wealth and power; and he’s hanging on to what he has. He’s willing to be persuaded of anything which will let him hang on. It was a lively meeting. Then our Committee crowded round Elise and questioned her on the way out. The three men who had been chosen hung behind, and hid. Under that table on the platform covered by the draped flags. They just lay there and waited all through the night until the church bells began. That was their signal. I am sorry we had to arrange it so that it looked as if you had killed the German, but we must safeguard the village. You understand?”

“The village has done more than enough for me,” Hearne said quietly. “How did they get into the cellar?”

“You want to know everything, don’t you?” Kerénor looked at him warily.

“As someone who would like to perfect his own technique.”

Kerénor’s suspicion ended as quickly as it had begun. “It was simple. There might have been the noise of a movement from upstairs. The guard came to the foot of the staircase. Silence. He came up the staircase with a torch and the gun. Then he turned to go back downstairs. The door in the corridor, through which you escaped, opened. Our man came forward. In the old days he was the best smuggler in the district. Bare feet make no noise. Neither do large hands wrapped tightly round a German’s throat.”

“But what if there had been a second sentry?”

“One of the other men came into the corridor. German hat, German coat. Enough to pass in the dim cellar light (we are so backward here, no modern conveniences!), enough to pass for a moment. That was all we needed. From then on he was to improvise, while the third man guarded the corridor with his knife. That was why we chose three men.”

Hearne’s look of admiration stopped Kerénor.

“That’s nothing to what we
can
do,” he said modestly. “After this war is over, the tales we shall have to tell will make strange listening. Nothing that art can invent is so wildly improbable as what happens in real life. Art and fiction are only imitations. Life is truth, and stranger than either of them.”

Hearne nodded. “So I’ve found,” he said. “There’s one last thing. There was an explosion.”

Kerénor said, “Yes, there was, wasn’t there?” His eyes were mocking, and Hearne knew he would be told no more than he had guessed already. But, looking at Kerénor’s triumph, he knew his guess had been near the truth.

“Here is your information,” Hearne said. “I can give it to you as far as I can remember it, but the full proof is in my room in the farm. Who can go to get it?”

“Anne is out. I am out, too—for I never went near the Corlay place, and if I went to go now it would seem strange. There’s only Monsieur le Curé left.”

“Will he?”

“If he can act without being told the facts.”

Hearne said, “My head is dull today.”

“Take these caves, for instance. Monsieur le Curé told Guézennec about them. At the same time he suggests it would be a good place for anyone to be safe from the Germans. Then he says no more, except to tell me about the history of the caves, and he doesn’t come to see you. Again, he doesn’t notice that the clothes belonging to his young assistant—at present in hospital somewhere in Germany—were borrowed. But the vestry where they were stored was left open all yesterday afternoon. Again, in a few minutes I shall go back up into the church, and from the church I shall take the private way to his house. When I return I shall carry a basket of books, with food underneath for Anne and you. This afternoon when I see Monsieur le Curé we shall talk of other things, but not of a depleted larder.”

“Here are the facts: I shall let you suggest them to Monsieur le Curé.” Hearne’s voice was beginning to tire. His head was
beginning to throb again. He felt hot. Quickly he told Kerénor about the bookcase in his room. Two note-books, two sets of papers clipped together, a map, a French service revolver, a silencer, a pocket-knife, an envelope. Kerénor listened intelligently. At the mention of the gun he shook his head slowly.

“The arsenal will need some careful suggesting,” he said, and rose slowly to his feet. “I think I’ll see Monsieur le Curé right away. I’d like that list of names...before I keep an appointment.”

There was something in his voice which aroused Hearne.

“What appointment?”

Kerénor was dusting the seat of his trousers. He seemed interested in the weave of the material. “After the meeting yesterday Elise spoke to me. It’s most unfortunate that Picrel turned out to be such a bad orator. There was only one thing Corlay and I had in common—the ability to talk.”

“She asked you?”

“Sideways...nothing definite. For the sake of Brittany and the chance of a really worth-while career. If I feel the call I am to let her know, and we can meet. Added bait, of course... the lovely Elise and a moonlight meeting. The first she’s ever given me... such an honour, such promises of delight. Three days ago even, I should have been struck dumb by an invitation like that.” His mouth twisted bitterly as he laughed at himself. “But three days ago is three days ago.” He looked at Hearne. “Damn you,” he said abruptly. “Why did you have to be right?”

He limped towards the passage.

“I’ll bring the food,” he called back to Anne.

“And the clothes,” she said quietly. She looked towards Hearne. “You want the clothes, don’t you?”

He nodded. “Most of all,” he said. There was something else
he had meant to ask...what was it?... But he was too tired: he gave up the effort.

Kerénor’s limping footsteps had dulled into an echo. Once he had the clothes, Hearne thought, he would make his plans and start the journey. Meanwhile it was pleasant to forget; to watch Anne’s quiet movements about the room; to feel her bandage his arm and smooth the sheet over his shoulders; to close his eyes and listen to the distant water-music.

26

“WHITE IN THE MOON THE LONG ROAD LIES”

Perhaps Hearne had slept enough, or perhaps it was just that his mind wouldn’t rest. During the night he woke five times in all, and each time Anne came forward out of the dark corner where she rested. She was beside him again when his broken sleep ended at last. Her heavy round gold watch, which she had fastened by its brooch to the blanket when he had started worrying about the time, told him it was almost six o’clock.

“Six o’clock when?” he asked her, as she carried in a basin of water.

“Six o’clock in the morning. Kerénor should soon be here.” She gave him water to drink, and bathed him gently.

“What day is today?”

“Wednesday, I think.” She smiled. “I lose count too, you see.” He looked at her pale cheeks and tired eyes.

“I owe you a lot,” he said. “If I hadn’t had someone to nurse me so carefully as you have done, I should still be only half
recovered. I feel I could get up today. And then tomorrow—”

“You mustn’t hurry too much.”

“Not too much, but I must hurry.”

She felt his brow and his pulse. “You
are
much better.” Her bright smile made him feel better still.

“How did you learn all this?” he asked, pointing to the bandage she was cutting from a piece of linen.

“Because of Kerénor. He was going to start a kind of clinic for the schoolchildren, but the people against it were too many for us. He wanted me to help him. He was teaching me astronomy, and his fee was that I should learn first-aid.”

“Astronomy!” said Hearne in amazement. “In heaven’s name, why?”

“I wanted to learn,” Anne said simply.

Looking at her calm face, he knew she spoke the truth. There was nothing behind her words. She had just wanted to learn. “You certainly learned how to nurse.”

Anne smiled. “Oh, I’ve nursed animals: they are much more difficult to take care of than people.” She finished changing his bandages, gently wiping his face clean of its black grease. “Now you do look better,” she said. “You are healing nicely.”

Hearne’s spirits rose. “When will the clothes come?” he said.

“Today. And your map and your papers too, I should think.” She saw the relief in his eyes. She gathered up the basin and the towel and bandages quickly, and hurried towards the other room.

Now what had he done? he wondered. Then the excitement of the plans already half forming drove all other thoughts from his mind.

* * *

It was nine o’clock, however, before they heard Kerénor’s footsteps and saw the round circle of light from his torch coming towards them.

He settled the basket clumsily on the floor beside Hearne and said, with a pretence of light-heartedness, “Food, what there is of it. Clothes, rustic but useful. Map, holding miraculously together. Clasp-knife. Gun, very much loaded and complete with a peculiar object. What is it, by the way?”

“Something to take the noise out of shooting. A silencer.”

“Careful kind of fellow, aren’t you?” And then Kerénor dropped the amused tone as he picked up a neatly folded handkerchief, and handed it in silence to Hearne. The small bundle had weight. Hearne looked at Kerénor in surprise.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“From Madame Corlay,” Kerénor said shortly, and bent over the basket again.