As Father Michel, and finally Hermann, caught up with him, he indicated the offending document. The three of them stood side by side in the centre aisle at the back of the gathering, the girl up front on a makeshift dais that gave her the advantage of but a half-metre of height over those who were seated. There were several of the Occupier — two SS from the SIPO, the Sicherheitspolizei, their security police who specialized in investigating enemies of the State — Jésus, merde alors, why had they come?
The German overseer was here, too. Every segment of French agriculture and industry, even apiculture, had one, usually a specialist in his field.
‘Frau Käthe Hillebrand,’ breathed Hermann, nodding towards a smartly dressed blonde in a light beige, camelhair overcoat, soft lemon-coloured cashmere scarf, brown leather gloves and a wide-brimmed tan fedora that all but hid the right half of her brow and was, yes, very provocative.
‘That is our Bonze’s secretary, Louis, but what the hell is she doing here?’
‘Listening, perhaps.’
Madame Roulleau was knitting a pullover from scavenged unravelled wool, but held the needles poised for more dialogue, the fingers pudgy, the face lined with worry and with deep pouches under soft brown eyes.
De Bonnevies was to have paid her a visit on Friday. Beside her sat an elderly gentleman who wore the yellow and green ribbon of the Médaille Militaire. ‘Captain Henri-Alphonse Vallée, of 2 place des Vosges, Hermann,’ said St-Cyr quietly. ‘Confident in all difficult matters.’
‘Mesdames et Messieurs …’
‘SIT DOWN! YOU’VE NO RIGHT!’
This had come from one of the three men at the front: a grey business suit, and with immaculately groomed grey hair.
‘I have every right, Monsieur le vice-président Jourdan, but let us put it to a vote,’ countered Danielle, clearly flustered and upset, yet determined to carry through. ‘All those in favour of allowing me a few moments of their time; and then, those not in favour. Monsieur I’Inspecteur Kohler of the Gestapo has just arrived with Père Michel, our parish priest and an old friend of my father’s. Perhaps these two could count the votes.’
‘THIS IS INSANE! SIT DOWN!’
‘TAKE YOUR PLACE, MADEMOISELLE!’
‘AT THE BACK, WHERE I WILL NEVER BE HEARD, MONSIEUR DE SAUSSINE? You who have fought so hard to stop my father from speaking out, should at least have the courage to allow his daughter to do so, if for no other reason than to honour the man who taught you virtually everything you know!’
‘Let us listen to her,’ grumbled Mme Roulleau, stuffing her knitting away in its bag. ‘Oh come now, mes vieux amis, what can a mere girl say that offends so much?’
You wise old owl, thought St-Cyr. You know exactly what that girl plans to tell them.
‘Those for letting her continue,’ sang out Kohler.
Hands were raised, some hesitantly and only after others had been lifted.
‘And now the nays!’ he cried.
The SS played no part in the voting, and neither did any of the others of the Occupier, including two Obergrenadiers on leave, a Hauptmann, a Major and another Blitzmädel.
‘Praise be to God,’ sighed Father Michel. ‘The nays have it in abundance!’
‘Oh no they don’t, Father,’ swore Kohler softly and then, much louder, ‘Thirty-five to eight say she speaks!’
‘Merci,’ managed Danielle and tried to smile.
Father Michel crossed his chest and said softly but acidly, ‘May God forgive you, my son.’
‘Mesdames, Mesdemoiselles et Messieurs, will no one speak for the bees of Russia? Reliable estimates tell us that over one-half of all Russian honeybees have already perished — one-half! This tragic loss is not just due to the fierce shelling of tiny villages and hamlets, you understand, nor to other acts of war which leave the farms in ruins and the hives untended. It is also due to disease and its rapid spread. Since few are left to trap the swarms when each colony divides, these establish themselves in the wild and there, too, the diseases spread to decimate those few colonies that are still being carefully tended.
‘But … but it’s not simply of these matters that my father wished to speak. There is theft on a massive scale. In most rural areas of the Ukraine and in Poland and elsewhere in the east, the peasants are still using the woven wicker or straw skeps, and now … now especially in winter, these hives are being gathered by German soldiers. Skeps are piled one on top of another without regard to their brood clusters or to disease, and these … these are being shipped by rail to Paris.’
Again she paused, but this time opened her left hand to release a bee which lingered until gently blown away.
‘Normally in the late fall the peasants would examine each hive, and would drown the oldest and heaviest, but also the lightest and weakest colonies, both to destroy any disease and to harvest the honey. But now these diseased colonies, and the healthy ones, too, arrive here. Papa knew that among them some carried acarine mites and European foul brood, also chalk brood which, as many of you know, makes the dead larvae appear as if Egyptian mummies wrapped in white cotton. He tried to stop what was happening, and for this … for this was poisoned.’
‘VOYOU!’ sang out one of the men at the front, leaping to his feet to shake a fist at her. Delinquent …
‘SALOPE!’
‘C’EST SCANDELEUX!’ cried another, joining him.
‘God forbid our guests should have to listen to such rubbish!’
‘À TOUT PRIX, MONSIEUR DE SAUSSINE!’ shrieked Danielle. At any price!
She caught a breath and hastily wiped away her tears, calmed herself a little and at a sudden thought, even tried to smile. ‘After all, hasn’t the Maréchal Pétain told us that no neutrality is possible between truth and falsehood? Why, then, should we lie about this matter?’
‘Silence, girl. You’ve already said too much!’
‘MURDERER!’ she shrilled. ‘ASSASSIN! I WILL FINISH AS IS MY RIGHT!’
One of the SS nodded at her to continue and in spite of their presence, she found her voice. ‘Those hives are joined by crushed and mangled honeycomb and broodcomb from the Vaucluse, from Normandy, Brittany, Anjou, Touraine and other regions, and this … this is not for the honey they contain but for the wax which is made into candles. The wax!’
She let that sink in.
‘And we all know which of our most revered of institutions must burn only beeswax candles, don’t we, Père Michel? The Église de Saint-Germain-de-Charonne, your very own church, n’est-ce pas? The Notre Dame, aussi, and Sacré-Coeur, and all others, since all have found ways to purchase them on the black market at highly inflated prices. Even in wartime such candles are necessary. Especially so, I think, since no others are available. But some of you here have used the honey from these diseased hives to augment your winter stores — admit it, messieurs. My father knew very well one of these three was selling it to you and lying about it.’
Either Jourdan, de Saussine, or the man who sat between them, thought St-Cyr.
‘She’s a dead girl, Louis. She’s just committed suicide but we had to let her speak out.’
‘Agreed. Brave yet foolish, Hermann, but did she have another reason for doing so and is that not why this priest didn’t want her to?’
‘You fools,’ swore Father Michel. ‘You call yourselves detectives but are so blind. There is my reason, and hasn’t that woman suffered enough?’