His Majesty's Hope(42)
Father Licht sat down next to Gottlieb Lehrer in Frau von Solf’s salon. The furniture and décor were art deco, all angles and symmetry. Most of the men were substantial, and it looked as if the delicate chairs they sat on would give way at any moment.
There were twelve members present. Frau von Solf motioned for a young maid to put down a tray of Pfannkuchen, dusted with powdered sugar. “I’ll pour the tea, Helga,” the Frau von Solf said to the maid. “You may go.”
After she had served the caraway tea and the men had helped themselves to pastry, she called the meeting to order. “Herr Lehrer,” she said to Gottlieb, “would you please begin?”
Gottlieb looked at the pale faces surrounding him. “I am pleased to say that our friend from Britain arrived safely.”
There was a round of applause.
“And our radio operator now has the crystals he needs.”
“Excellent,” Frau von Solf said, clapping her ring-laden hands together.
“However, we still have to plant the bug in Frau Hess’s study.”
“Isn’t her Fire and Ice Ball tomorrow night?” asked Frau von Solf.
“Yes,” Gottlieb answered. “And I have concerns. She’s inexperienced—”
“She?” said Herr Zunder, a Lutheran minister at the Berliner Dom. “A woman?”
“That was my reaction, too,” Gottlieb replied.
“A woman,” Frau von Solf said drily. “My word.”
The men didn’t pick up on her sarcasm.
“According to our plan,” continued Gottlieb, “she’ll plant a bug in the study at Frau Hess’s villa, then return to Britain the following night. Although, as I’ve said, I have concerns. She’s done one or two minor things in Britain—but this is her first foreign mission. If anything goes wrong, I’ll be there to make sure the microphone is set.”
“I will pray for her,” Licht said. “And you, too—that your mission is successful.”
“I will pray as well,” said Herr Zunder.
Frau von Solf wiped powdered sugar off her lip with a linen napkin. “And Father Licht, what do you have to report?”
“I have a source at Charité Hospital. This person may be able to gain access to some of Dr. Brandt’s files.”
“You’re sure Bishop von Preysing will speak out?”
“If we have irrefutable proof, yes, Frau von Solf,” Licht replied. “As well as Bishop Michael von Faulhaber of Munich, Bishop Clemens August Graf von Galen of Münster, and Dietrich Bonhoeffer of the Confessing Church.”
“Excellent. And Herr Zunder, what news have you?” And so they talked, drinking tea, long into the night.
When Elise returned home to Grunewald, she knew what she had to do. Maybe she couldn’t get the files—or couldn’t yet get the files—but she might be able to save a life or two.
The attic of her home was large and unused, except for storage. No one ever went up there—only the maids, once a year, to retrieve the Christmas decorations. But Christmas seemed a lifetime away. The room could easily be cleaned out and the old trunks and broken furniture moved to one side, in order to make a habitable living space.
When her mother was out of the house and the maids thought she was at the hospital, Elise snuck back upstairs, where she scrubbed and straightened—careful, though, of every footstep. The attic had trapped the heat of the summer days and the air was difficult to breathe. How many can I hide? she wondered as she leaned on her mop. She was tired and dusty, her dress covered by a filthy apron and a kerchief covering her hair.
There was one bed up in the attic already, a double, which Elise made sure no mice were nesting in. So that was room for two. But maybe one more?
She found an old roll-up mattress with navy-blue ticking stripes she’d once used for a camping trip with the Bund Deutscher Mädel. It was thin, and the floor was hard, but still …
There were a few chamber pots, left over from the old days. Well, they’re going to have to do, Elise decided. The children will need fresh sheets and towels. A change of clothes. A supply of water and food …
Am I insane? She remembered all too well how it felt to have the SS men pin her against the wall, while the other two aimed their weapons at her. But then she thought of Gretel. And Friedrich. And the others.
Satisfied the attic was at last habitable, she tiptoed out.
It was late in the evening, but Ernst Klein hadn’t yet finished his appointed rounds. He knocked on the door of Esther Mandelbaum. There was silence, and then he heard slowly shuffling feet. After an interminable pause, several dead bolts were turned with loud clicks.