Maisie held on to the leather strap above her head and looked at Leslie. His skin had become more taut.
“There’s something else you should know, Miss Donat, and this is in extreme confidence—not that you have anyone to blab to, thank goodness, and the papers are already on fire with speculation. We absolutely cannot have another delay in gaining your father’s freedom. We have received intelligence that within the next forty-eight hours Herr Hitler will effect an invasion of Austria, though as far as he is concerned it is a reunification. He has long wanted to annex the land of his birth and bring it under the rule of the Third Reich, and to that end he has undermined the leadership of that country. In short order, his henchmen will be in positions of power and his Gestapo will be rounding up anyone who does not meet the Aryan ideal of the perfect citizen. Needless to say, Czechoslovakia is hot around the collar.” He paused, looked at Maisie as if to gauge her reaction to his news, then continued. “What that means for us is that this diplomatic fly in the ointment could either be to our advantage or against us, dependent upon how our hosts react to the news. The Kommandant may be doubly magnanimous—we have to assume he is aware of political developments—or he may be so full of himself and Nazi power that he makes life difficult. With luck he will display only enough hubris to toy with you a little, as the major did earlier. That we can surmount. Do not rise to the bait. Smile along with him. Greet your father with joy, and then let’s get both of you out of this place before we all end up in chains.”
It was as Leslie uttered the words in chains that the motor car turned the corner and the entrance to Dachau came into full view.
The guardroom was a low building, its ground floor divided by an archway, with doors to the left and right. In the rural comfort of the Cotswold manor house, Maisie had seen photographs and been advised that she would enter by one door and leave via the other. The interview would take place on the first floor, not the ground floor. Two armed guards stood watch in the square turret above the archway, which reminded Maisie of a widow’s walk she’d seen on a house near the coast in Massachusetts. It seemed odd to her that such a memory should come to her then, of being in Boston with Charles and Pauline Hayden, and how they had welcomed her after James had died and she could not remain in Toronto. They had taken her to a fishing village one day, and she had asked about the small square room that seemed to be set into the roof of a captain’s cottage. They had explained that it was a widow’s walk, a place where a woman would go to look out for her husband’s vessel on the sea, as if she could will him home. She thought, then, that any room she occupied would be akin to a widow’s walk, for it was a long time before she stopped hoping for the nightmare to end and for James to come walking home toward her.
Watchtowers with armed guards were situated to her right and left, and barbed wire seemed to run everywhere—along the top of fences, and even beyond, more barbed wire deterred escape. As the motor car came to a halt Maisie located the door to the left, where they would enter before being taken to the building’s first floor. She turned to Leslie as two guards made their way toward the vehicle.
“Let’s get this over and done with, Mr. Leslie. I want to go home.”
CHAPTER 12
The guards separated as they came closer to the motor car, one to stand alongside Maisie’s door, the other by Gilbert Leslie’s door. Maisie thanked the guard as she stepped out of the vehicle onto the hard, cold ground. Feeling a few nuggets of loose gravel and ice underfoot, she held on to the motor car to steady herself. The guard reached as if to assist, but instead used his hand to instruct her to follow him. She looked across to Leslie, and nodded.
As they approached the door to the left of the archway leading into the prison, one guard took the lead and one remained behind Leslie. Maisie framed a silent prayer in her mind: May this be over soon.
The door was opened by a guard inside, and they were led past what appeared to be some sort of staff room for officers of the Schutzstaffel. The guards accompanied them to another room where the Kommandant was seated, alongside another man who was not in uniform but whose dark clothing and black leather coat gave him an aura of authority. Maisie felt her tension increase, and knew Leslie’s otherwise calm demeanor was strained; he rubbed his forehead several times, and clasped and unclasped his hands. She wondered who the second man was—she had not expected anyone bar the Kommandant or a guard or two until Leon Donat was brought to the room.