Familiar with the area, she followed the winding passage that connected the buildings, going through open courtyards to echoing tunnels toward the exit door on Rue des Trois Maries. Such passages existed all though Lyon though not all were as beautifully crafted as the one she currently made her way through, with its finely arched ceilings and rose-hued walls.
The traboules were used by the old silk workers over a century ago to travel quickly through the steeply slanting streets. The covered passages were still utilized by many to save time. As an added benefit, the winding paths made her steps difficult to trace should someone be following her.
But as she approached the large wooden door leading out to Rue des Trois Maries, a figure stood in the shadows as though waiting on her. She drew up short, aware it was far too late to turn back around.
“Bonjour, Elaine.” Etienne lifted his head so she could make his features out in the dim light.
She exhaled a sigh of relief. “What news is there of Joseph?”
Etienne cast his eyes downward and shook his head. “He is still being held at Montluc Prison. None of his former contacts have been approached, which means he has not talked.”
“Is he well?” She hated relying on these reports rather than going to see her husband herself. But doing so with her false papers would put him at greater risk should she be caught. “And has he received my packages?” The scraps of food she managed to send came from her own paltry rations. But, if need be, she could find more on the black market. Joseph could do nothing from his cell but wait for whatever she sent him.
Etienne nodded. “We believe he has received them all. They have been delivered, that much I do know.”
The familiar knot of helpless frustration welled in her throat. “When will he be released?”
“Soon, we hope.”
It was always the same answer, each time given with conviction. But as the days wore on, she found herself less willing to trust his assurances.
What if the food she sent to Joseph was being taken from him?
What if he was being beaten for information the same as Etienne?
What if they never released him?
The last thought was too stark to even consider.
There was much that needed to be said between Elaine and her husband after they had parted ways on such a bitter note. She had started several letters to him to include with her parcels, but no words seemed to adequately convey what ached in her chest when she thought of Joseph. And certainly nothing that could be read by a guard without confirming his guilt.
No, her apology would be better said in person, when she could look into his eyes and tell him not only the depth of her regret, but also her love; for to her, one could not be said without the other.
“You’ve done well, Elaine,” Etienne said, interrupting her thoughts. “All your deliveries have been completed timely and without issue. You can be trusted.”
She frowned at his words. “If I wasn’t entirely trusted, why was I given messages to deliver?”
“They were traps.” He winked. “They contained false information and would have revealed you if you were indeed a collaborator.”
Her mouth fell open. All this time she had been thinking she was helping, putting her life on the line for those letterbox drops.
“Ours is a careful organization,” he continued in a softer tone. Already he spoke quietly enough that the stone walls could not carry the echo of his deep voice, but now he was nearly inaudible. “We cannot trust anyone. Even the wives of our dearest friends.”
The initial sting of distrust faded with her understanding.
Collaborators were everywhere. Like Madame Arnaud. A shiver crept down Elaine’s spine.