His Majesty's Hope(40)

And certainly he couldn’t tell Rosamund that he’d asked her out to see, just see, if it was even remotely possible for him to feel enough of a spark with a kindred soul, a Jewess, someone from his exact background, that they might—might, that is—have enough in common to perhaps—someday—settle down together and raise a family. Still, that was unlikely to happen, especially as she wouldn’t even meet his eyes.

The band launched into a cover of “Blue Champagne.”

“You seem uncomfortable,” David remarked, finally.

“ ‘Uncomfortable’?” Rosamund hissed. She met his eyes. “I know who—what—you are, David. I know all about you, you know. You were the talk of Oxford while we were there. You’re a family friend—and it was humiliating for me. Absolute mortification. It was difficult enough being Jewish, but then you had to go and act—like that. It reflected poorly on me, David. And it cost me friends.”

She knew, David realized. But he needed her to say it. “What, exactly, did you find humiliating?”

“That you’re a … friend of Dorothy’s. And, just for the record, I think it’s absolutely shameful. Disgusting, too.” She folded her arms over her chest and pressed her pink lips together.

David took a breath. “Yes, I did have the pleasure of meeting Miss Dorothy Parker once, but that’s not—”

Rosamund raised a hand. “Leviticus twenty-thirteen: If a man lies with a man as one lies with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them.”

David stared. He knew that “gross indecency” was illegal. If his actions were found out, he could be arrested and imprisoned, even do hard labor. Since “friends of Dorothy” were widely diagnosed as diseased, they were often “cured” with castration, lobotomies, pudendal nerve surgery, and electroshock treatment. And while at Oxford most looked away, in London, especially working in government, one had to be careful. Extremely careful. “I’m sorry if … I’ve offended you. Truly.”

“You don’t offend me,” Rosamund clarified. “But your behavior does. Color-coded pocket squares to signal interest to absolute strangers. Foot positions in public lavatories. It’s disgusting. It’s unnatural. An abomination in the eyes of God.”

David recoiled as if struck. “You’ve heard from God on this, then?”

“I’ve heard from the Rabbi. God expects us to be chaste and reserve … that sort of thing … for marriage. Within the context of marriage, it’s a mitzvah. And marriage can only be between a man and a woman.”

“So why did you say yes to my dinner invitation? Why subject yourself to my company, if it’s so distasteful to you?”

Rosamund looked across the room to summon their waiter. “First of all, because my parents asked me to, and I didn’t want to tell them why I didn’t want to. They don’t know anything about your … proclivities, and I don’t want to be the one to shatter their illusions. Second, because I wanted a chance to tell you how I felt, after all those years of humiliation at Oxford. And third, because I’m absolutely sick of rationing.” She looked up at the hovering waiter. “I’ll have the roast, please. Rare.”


The next morning, Elise did as she had promised Father Licht, and snuck into the record-keeping rooms of Charité Hospital. There, she found drawer upon drawer of records of Charité’s patients deemed “unfit for life.” All had been dispatched to Hadamar.

Within each file was abundant paperwork. Notification of admission to the Hadamar Institute. A letter to the parents, reporting a fake illness, such as pneumonia. Then the real death report, for Nazi eyes only. A death notification with the false reasons. The death certificate. Letter to the parents about the dispatch of the urn. And often, correspondence, sometimes tearstained and written with a shaky hand, from the parents, pleading for more information about what had happened.

In the files, Elise also found a letter from the Führer—the official letter, which gave Dr. Brandt and the other doctors their go-ahead for the mass murders. It was dated—backdated?—from the day Germany declared war.

BERLIN, 1. Sept. 1939.

Reichsleiter Bouhler and Dr. Karl Brandt are instructed to broaden the powers of physicians designated by name, who will decide whether those who have—as far as can be humanly determined—incurable illnesses can, after the most careful evaluation, be granted a mercy death.

Signed, A. Hitler



God help me, Elise prayed. With shaking hands, heart thudding, she made copies of the papers, wrinkling her nose at the stench of the sulfur used to make reverse-image photocopies.