It really was the perfect hiding place. The war had mostly passed the place by even though the border with Nazi Germany was just a few miles to the east. The flat and featureless landscape, which was constantly buffeted with cold winds and driving rain, held no attraction or strategic importance to anybody, either to the occupying German forces or later to the American and British liberators. It was a tiny and forgotten part of the country in the very south of Holland in a region remarkably bland. Where people kept to themselves and minded their own business. An ideal location.
He approached the building’s heavy wooden door set back into its stone porch, the overhead lamp leaking a feeble glow, and after one final furtive glance around, he banged on the dark surface with the flat of his hand.
There was no movement or sound from within. Which wasn’t really surprising. Even with the war over, late-night callers to a convent full of quivering, nervous nuns would set many a heart to beat that little bit faster. So he knocked once more, just that little bit louder and more insistent.
After several minutes he finally heard the scraping of bolts being drawn back and the turning of a key in the large and rusty lock, before the large door was slowly opened several inches and a small and pale face peered cautiously out.
Removing his cap and allowing a small smile to flit across his thin lips, he nodded politely.
“Good evening Reverend Mother”
There was a moment’s hesitation as the elderly woman facing him ran her gaze over his features, her eyes narrowing as she attempted to recall who he was, before recognition filtered through. The tiny shiver of fear that caused her lower lip to tremble was only slight, but it was there nevertheless, and when she spoke her voice mirrored her dread.
“Doctor, we were not expecting you.”
He simply nodded, said “no”, and brushed by her through the entranceway.
Inside the main hall he paused and glanced around, noticing two more younger nuns peering at him through the gloom before they quietly slipped through a doorway and disappeared from view. To his left stretched a long corridor where a third person stood holding a lantern, another novice nun of perhaps fifteen or sixteen, looking at him curiously. He ignored her and turned back to the elderly lady as she re-joined him, having closed and locked the heavy door.
“Mother Annette, I trust you and your charges are all well?”
“Why yes. The year draws to a close and the nights darken, but we are all well.”
“Mmm, let us hope this winter is not as severe as last year.”
“A severe winter it was sir,” she agreed, then added, “but with our terrible struggles behind us we all prey for times of hope and reconciliation.”
“Yes, quite.” He moved forward several steps and glanced once more down the long passageway. “I do apologize for this unannounced visit, and at such a late hour. I hope I have not alarmed you or the young ladies.” He again allowed a brief smile at the young nun who was still keeping watch. “However, it is somewhat urgent and my time is short.”
“We are always content to welcome you here, at your convenience.”
He turned to look squarely at her, unsure whether her words were heartfelt, but dismissed the doubt from his mind. Reverend Mother, or Mother Superior as was her formal title, had always been hard to read and he had precious little time to concern himself with this at the moment. Instead he asked in crisp tones: “Perhaps I could visit your other guests?”
Mother Annette, her elderly face lined and her rheumy eyes downcast, merely nodded.
She led the way into the convent, taking the lantern off the young girl who trailed on behind them both. As he strode down the passageway, which was dark and lined with closed doors and scuttling insects, he noted with a hint of amusement how Mother Annette cast a frightful sight. With her long and dark habit brushing the floor she appeared to glide across the stone flags like a levitating ghost.
At the end of the long passageway they turned right and moved forward into a larger, open space, before angling towards the corner and passing through another doorway. Here there was a stone spiral staircase which he knew led up to the nuns’ bare and tiny cells, each simply furnished with a wooden cot and straw mattress, perhaps with a single chair and porcelain wash basin on a side table, and a wooden cross affixed to the wall. But they did not head upwards. Instead they went down.
Twisting deeper and deeper, the three of them stepped down into the shadowy staircase, with the orange glow from the lantern offering scant illumination so that it was necessary to tread carefully on the steps worn smooth from age. At the bottom was another passageway, but this one wide and short. Two doorways led off the central space, one of which was open and revealed a cell set aside for sick or ill residents. Just outside this door was a small stool and desk, and here the young novice nun sat demurely, her eyes still following him with fascination.
Mother Annette led him to the other, closed door.
Taking a hold of the old, iron ring pull, she twisted and then pushed open the solid door, which scraped and shuddered over the uneven stone floor. She did not enter but quickly passed him the lantern and stepped back and turned her face away from the stench that wafted from the room beyond.
Unfazed by the smell, the blond-haired man crossed the threshold, a shiver of excitement passing through him.
Inside the chilly and windowless room he raised the lantern and slowly turned around, the light shivering and sliding across the bare walls. Spaced evenly about the floor
