“Why do you think that?” Martha asked.
“Because I kept asking them to give my parents a job. It was the only way they could get out of Austria. People they knew in Vienna were being taken on as cooks or gardeners in British houses. All you needed was a written offer from England—then you could get a visa to travel. But the couple I was living with said they didn’t need any paid staff. I said they wouldn’t have to pay them, just pretend they were giving them a job. I knew if my parents could just get to England, we’d survive somehow. But they kept saying no. And then the war started, and it was too late.”
Kitty was staring at the table, wisps of hair hanging down around her face. “Then the woman got ill and had to go into hospital. They couldn’t keep me after that, so I went to live with two old ladies. They were nice to me. I’d brought a book with me from Austria, called Gone with the Wind—it was the only book I had. They bought me the English version. That was how I learnt the language, really. I taught myself to read and write English by copying out a chapter every night.” She pushed her hair back from her face. “I was desperate to fit in, to be normal. I thought that if I could learn to speak without an accent, other kids would start liking me.
“My father used to tell me that knowledge was a precious, everlasting possession. He was pleased when I wrote to tell them I was fluent in English. He said: ‘Always remember, Kitty, the riches of the mind do not rust.’ He put that in the last letter I had from them. I knew that if I tried hard enough, I could master almost anything. It gave me the sense of being in control—it was the one thing I could control.” She paused, fingering the cognac glass, her finger tracing the rim. “I liked it, living with the old ladies, even though I was scared of the air raids. But then the house was bombed.”
Delphine’s hand went to her mouth. “Were you hurt?”
“No. I was out when it happened—and so were they, thank goodness. But we had nowhere to live. I was sent to Manchester after that. The people I went to live with said I was too old to go to school.”
“Is that when you started the job you told me about?” Martha said.
Kitty nodded. “I knew how to use a sewing machine. My mother was a seamstress and I used to help her. I liked earning money. When I was seventeen, I left my foster parents and took lodgings with one of my workmates from the factory.”
“How long is it since you heard from your parents?” Delphine whispered the question, leaning in close to Kitty.
“The last letter I had was in August 1940, when I was still living in London. There was nothing after I moved to Manchester.”
“But would they have known where you were?” Delphine frowned.
“I sent my new address each time I moved. And when the war ended, I went to the Red Cross office in Manchester. They had lists, like the ones they deliver to us. But after a few weeks, I was getting desperate. I thought if I could just find a way to get to Europe . . .”
Delphine nodded. “You want to go to Vienna.”
“That was my plan.” Kitty shook her head. “I was so na?ve. I had no idea what it was going to be like here in Germany. I thought I’d be able to hop on a train and be there in a couple of hours.”
“It’d take a day or two, I should think,” Martha said, “but we could arrange it. The army would help, I’m sure.”
“But how could I possibly leave the two of you to cope with all this? And anyway,” she added, “Father Josef has written to the bishop of Vienna, asking if someone in the Church can make inquiries.”
“That’s good. He’s such a kind man.”
Something in the tone of Delphine’s voice made both Kitty and Martha turn her way. She was staring at the table, her eyes glassy.
“Delphine? What is it?” Martha said.
A tear ran down Delphine’s cheek. “He’s offered to take me to Dachau. But I don’t know if I can bear it.”
“Dachau?” Kitty gasped. “Why?”
“M . . . my husband died there. My son, too. Claude and Philippe. They . . .” The words were lost in a choking sob.
Martha gathered her up. Her body felt so slight, Martha could feel her ribs through the fabric of her shirt.
Kitty held a glass of cognac up to Delphine’s trembling lips, and she shuddered as the liquid went down. She closed her eyes, tears oozing out from under pale lashes. Then she took a long breath.
“They worked for the Resistance in Paris.” She was staring at the wall beyond the table now, as if the faces of her lost family were projected onto it. She repeated what she had told Father Josef a little more than an hour earlier—words that had been locked inside until today.