On arrival, though, she found the front door locked. But these old wooden buildings, which should have been condemned years ago, usually had their secrets. She slipped through the side alley, grateful for her new boots when she disturbed a nest of rats and they streamed over her feet. In the small yard at the back, she found the back door locked, too. She stepped away and looked up at the darkening winter sky, the colour of a bruise. The blacked-out skies spat icy rain. The clock ticked. Curfew was fast approaching.
Go home, her logical brain told her.
Find the books, her librarian’s brain insisted.
Then she spotted a small window leading down to the basement, low enough that she could easily clamber in. Taking her briefcase, she slammed it into the window. The glass shattered and fell away. Reaching through, she unhooked the latch and opened it up, wriggling her way inside.
She dropped to the floor, feeling a fine spider’s web brushing against her cheek. It was so dark she couldn’t see a hand in front of her face. It was deathly quiet too. Nothing but the drip, drip ofwater in the ancient basement. Then she felt it, the brush of cold flesh against her arm. Dorotha shuddered and stifled a scream.
‘Who’s there?’ she said shakily. ‘Show yourself.’
There was the scrape of a match, then a small halo of light from an oil lamp illuminated two faces. A woman of about thirty and a filthy-faced child.
‘What’re you doing here?’ growled the woman, holding up a broom as if to defend herself. ‘We have nothing. Be on your way.’
Dorotha held her hands up. ‘I mean you no harm. I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here.’
The woman’s eyes were so wide with fear that her pupils looked like tiny drops of spilled ink on a page.
‘My name’s Dorotha Berkowicz. I’m a librarian searching for books to loan out to prisoners. How long have you been hiding down here?’
‘Three months. Since the GreatSperre. My name is Ava. This is my daughter Gabriele.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Wait. How do I know you won’t betray me?’
‘Because I’ve nothing to gain by such a despicable act,’ Dorotha replied, calm despite her thundering heart. ‘I assure you, I mean no harm. You must be starving, Ava. How have you been feeding your daughter?’
The woman’s face was twitchy, her mouth set in a thin line of determination. ‘I go out at night and scavenge what I can. Potato peelings, or occasionally I get lucky and find an old cabbage.’
Dorotha swallowed down her horror at the woman’s predicament. Remembering the half a loaf she had managed to buy earlier, she took it from her bag and handed it to her. She had been saving it to share with Ruth and her mother, but these strangers’ needs were greater. The woman backed away suspiciously.
‘Ava,’ said Dorotha gently, pressing the bread into her hand. ‘You’re a courageous soul. Hiding down here to keep yourdaughter safe. That takes unimaginable bravery. Let me help you. Please.’
‘I don’t take charity,’ the woman replied.
‘I’m not offering it. If you let me search the house for books, in exchange I’ll bring you whatever food I can manage, and blankets too. You must be freezing. That’d be a fair exchange, no?’
Dorotha could sense the churn of the woman’s thoughts. But it was the look on her daughter’s face that sealed it. Her eyes were fixed on the bread, naked hunger written all over her.
She nodded imperceptibly and handed the bread to her daughter, who wolfed it down.
‘Don’t think you can come here when you like,’ the woman retorted, her suspicion clearly not assuaged. ‘This is my home.’
Dorotha wanted to weep at a world in which a woman was forced to hide in her cellar just to keep her child alive.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it, Ava. I-I lost my parents in the round-up. Not a minute goes by when I don’t wish I had your strength of character and foresight.’
Ava softened.
‘Very well. You’ll find my husband’s collection of books on the bookcase on the first floor. Take what you want... if they’re still there. We live down here in the basement. I haven’t been up there for months for fear of being seen.’
‘Please, miss...’ the little girl’s voice in the gloom shocked Dorotha. ‘Can you please get me my copy ofEmil and the Detectives? It’s on the chair by the bed, where I left it before we ran.’
Dorotha looked more closely at the girl. She was a pretty little thing, with red hair and a smattering of freckles. She was deathly pale, but her eyes, as blue as china, gleamed at the promise of a reunion with her favourite book.
Dorotha nodded. Gingerly, she picked up her briefcase, clambered up the basement steps and found the door handle.
‘Be quick,’ Ava ordered.
Dorotha was in and out in under fifteen minutes. Not stopping to read the book titles, she scooped as many as she could into her briefcase, and grabbed the copy ofEmil and the Detectiveson her way down.
