Delia and Inga had bought the basic necessities Mathilde would need to begin her life in exile: several skirts and blouses, undergarments, new socks, and a nightgown. Delia also purchased a comb, hairpins, soap, toothbrush, and handkerchiefs. Inga, being eternally vain and also quite wealthy after marrying Benedict, bought a jar of shockingly expensive face cream, lip tint, rice powder, and a bottle of perfume.
“I don’t care how heroic Mathilde Verhaegen is, a woman wants to look pretty,” Inga insisted. “Besides, after spending time in a German dungeon, she deserves a little luxury.”
They arrived at the prison the hour before dawn so that they could be sure to catch Mathilde before she was whisked away to Switzerland. Delia climbed down from the carriage first and took a moment to study the fortresslike prison of Saint-Gilles. High stone walls of bleached granite, formidable turrets, and heavy iron gates exuded the stern authority of an earlier era.
And somewhere beneath that imposing castle, Finn lay trapped in an underground cell where he was destined to sit out the restof the war. She was only a stone’s throw away, yet she couldn’t see or speak with him.
Getting past the prison guards to deliver the suitcase of newly purchased clothes for Mathilde might prove difficult, but she was determined to make it happen. Inga brimmed with confidence as they approached the two guards flanking the sally port entrance. The tall guard was grim and skinny, while the shorter one had an eye patch and a softer expression. Both had probably been wounded on the front and transferred to guard duty behind the lines.
“We’re here to meet with Madam Verhaegen,” Inga said in flawless German. There was a bit of back and forth in the language Delia couldn’t understand, and yet the guard with the eye patch seemed to thaw under the generous smile and friendly chatter Inga bestowed on him.
The tall guard didn’t smile but demanded to inspect the contents of their suitcase. Delia handed it over. After unbuckling the straps, he pawed through ladies’ clothes and undergarments. His face remained stern as he sniffed the perfume and rubbed a dab of the face cream between his thumb and finger.
“Ja!” the guard said, snapping his fingers and gesturing for Delia to put the contents of the suitcase back together. By the time she’d folded the clothes and secured the straps, the friendlier soldier had unlocked the iron gate and opened one of the creaky doors.
Delia said nothing as she walked beside Inga into the central courtyard of the prison.
“We’re in luck,” Inga whispered to her. “Since Mathilde is due to leave within the hour, the guards see no harm in letting us personally deliver the clothing to her.”
They turned the corner into a grassy area in between the cellblock wings, where the guard had instructed them to wait.
The prison resembled a scary medieval castle with its central courtyard and four wings of cellblocks, each radiating outwardlike the spokes of a wheel. They were to wait in the dusty courtyard until Mathilde arrived. With each beat of her heart, Delia longed for a way to communicate with Finn, but it was hopeless.
Ten minutes later, Mathilde finally emerged from one of the cellblocks, wearing the same gray gown she’d worn during her trial. Though two guards escorted her, she was not shackled. Her long, curly hair was tied by a bit of cloth, and her expression was cautious as she scanned the prison yard.
“Mrs. Verhaegen?” Delia said, stepping forward. “We have brought you clothes for the journey.”
The woman glanced between Delia and the suitcase. Delia unbuckled the straps and opened the case, gesturing for Mathilde to take the clothes.
“Pour moi?” Mathilde said.
Delia smiled. “Yes. For you.” Mathilde desperately needed a fresh set of clothes. The hem of her gown was filthy, and the sweat stains beneath her arms made it appear as though she hadn’t been afforded clean clothes or the chance to bathe since her trial. The train to Zurich was scheduled to depart in an hour. “Ask the guards if we can use the lavatory,” she said to Inga.
Instead of charming the guard like Delia expected, Inga swiveled an annoyed glance at the guard and fired off a castigating torrent of German as she gestured to the sorry state of Mrs. Verhaegen’s clothing and hygiene. Miraculously, they were granted access to the lavatory inside the guard’s cellblock.
White tile lined the floors and walls, with pipes leading to a ceramic sink and a single toilet. It wasn’t the nicest place to clean up, but the white enamel sink had a bar of soap near the faucet, and they had handkerchiefs in the suitcase. The floor was the only place in which to set the suitcase, and Mathilde watched with curiosity as Delia opened it once again.
Inga had been right to choose clothes that were frilly and feminine. Even though Mathilde had a no-nonsense demeanor and a sturdy frame that looked as if she could plow a field, she was stilla woman. A smile brightened her face at the sight of the silky undergarments and toiletries. But when she touched the pretty jar of perfumed cream, her expression crumpled and she blinked rapidly as a sheen of tears came to her eyes.
“Thank you,” Mathilde said on a shaky breath, covering her mouth with trembling hands.
They were the same hands that had dragged Finn to safety. Mathilde probably didn’t understand much English, but Delia couldn’t hold back. “It is I who should be thankingyou,” she said. “You saved my best friend. I am in awe of everything you did for Finn and for your family and the people of Belgium. You helped inspire a nation, and there are no words for how grateful I am, ma’am.”
There was more she wanted to say, but a lump had formed in her throat, making it hard to keep speaking. Mathilde seemed to appreciate the sentiment and squeezed Delia’s hands in a moment of understanding.
Inga turned the spigot and began lathering a handkerchief. “We must hurry,” she said. “We have only ten minutes before that guard will be banging on the door.”
Mathilde wasn’t the least bit shy as she shucked the threadbare gown from her body. In short order she ran the soapy handkerchief over her shoulders and beneath her arms. Delia and Inga both turned away as the older woman stepped out of the gown and shed the rest of her clothes.
Once Mathilde was dressed in a new wool skirt and cotton blouse, the three of them went into the courtyard to wait. Language barriers made communication difficult, but Inga filled the time with pleasant chatter in a combination of German and broken French.
Meanwhile, Delia scanned the bleak courtyard, wondering which of the buildings housed Finn. He’d now been imprisoned for more than two months. He had been so brave to come here. While his attempt to free Mathilde hadn’t worked, it was still anextraordinary sacrifice.“Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life forone’s friends.”
That was exactly what Finn had done. Although it wasn’t Finn’s actions that led to Mathilde’s release, did that make his sacrifice any less valiant? He was a good man. Not always wise or careful, but he had offered his life in exchange for Mathilde’s.
A carriage arrived at the top of the hour to take Mathilde to the train station. Inga walked arm in arm with the courageous woman while Delia hung a few steps behind. Admiration mingled with shame as she watched Mathilde board the carriage. The Belgian woman turned back to wave farewell, smiling for the first time since Delia saw her. Delia returned the smile and sent back a hearty wave, but inside frustration began to roil.
All her life she had been a rule follower. Mathilde wasn’t. Neither was Finn. Even Bertie occasionally bent the rules when he needed to make things happen. People who saved the world rarely followed the rules or worried about their personal safety. What kind of person was she if she would docilely walk out of this prison, mere yards away from Finn, because a German corporal told her she needed to leave?
