The Royal Librarian, page 7
‘Yes, of course.’ Sophie wouldn’t cry. Later, there would be time to grieve.
‘I’ve spoken to Mr Sinclair and we agree there might be opportunities for a girl with your abilities and background.’
What does that mean, exactly? Sophie wondered. Her ability to speak English, presumably, but how was her background relevant?
‘Your sister, however, is a different matter,’ Esme Slater went on. ‘Are there any relatives or friends who could give her a home?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ Wilhelm’s mother had needed some persuading to let the girls stay as long as they had, and Ruth had made it clear that the arrangement in her room in Leopoldstadt was only temporary. Besides, she couldn’t bear to think of her darling Hanna being passed from hand to hand like a piece of unwanted luggage. ‘Is there really no chance the American couple might take her?’
‘None at all,’ Mrs Slater said. ‘They’re leaving tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I should like you to keep in touch. Are you still at the address you gave me before?’ She flipped through a rolodex.
‘We’re staying with Ruth Hoffman at the moment. I think you have her details.’
‘Ah, yes. The impresario outside.’ Mrs Slater raised her eyebrows. ‘Keep this conversation private, would you? She’s very determined but more difficult to place.’ With that, she got up to open the door and call in the other two.
If she hadn’t been numb, Sophie might have broken down when she saw Hanna trail into the office behind Ruth, her face pale and frightened. She held out her arm and Hanna ran towards her, shrinking against her sister’s side and burying her face in her blouse. She has no one to turn to but me, Sophie thought, filled with such a fierce protective love that the last shred of weakness in her spirit burned away. She would have killed anyone who tried to hurt Hanna, torn them apart with her bare hands. Mrs Slater was talking and she caught the odd phrase – ‘difficult present circumstances’, ‘regrettable state of affairs’, ‘not for the foreseeable future’ – and then the three of them were being ushered outside.
‘Well, that was a waste of time,’ Ruth said, knitting her dark eyebrows. ‘Why bother setting up a meeting if you don’t have anything to offer?’ She gave Sophie a suspicious stare. ‘What did she talk to you about?’
‘I’ll tell you later.’ Sophie glanced down at Hanna. ‘When we’re on our own.’
That afternoon, Ruth went to play her violin outside the opera house while Sophie took Hanna to St Stephen’s Cathedral. Their mother would go to mass there at Easter and Christmas, and Sophie was planning to light a candle for her and explain to Hanna what had happened. She sat in the sacred hush, breathing the scent of incense and staring up at the richly patterned ceiling while Hanna dozed beside her. Neither of them were sleeping well on Ruth’s floor in Leopoldstadt; doors banged all night long and a baby cried astonishingly loudly every few hours in the apartment next door. Sophie settled Hanna’s head more comfortably against her shoulder. Her sister’s hair was tangled and her clothes smelt of the cabbage soup they had eaten at the Jewish refuge that morning. She looked shabby and unloved. What would their mother have said?
Hanna yawned and sat up. ‘I don’t want to sit in a church,’ she said. ‘I don’t believe in God. If He exists, why does He let these terrible things happen?’
‘I suppose He has to let us make our own mistakes,’ Sophie replied, not even convincing herself. Now the moment had come, she couldn’t bring herself to tell Hanna the awful truth. Surely her sister had suffered enough? She would break the news tomorrow, or in the next few days. Or maybe she would wait a couple of months until they were both feeling stronger. There was no rush, after all. Let Hanna accept one loss before being confronted with another.
‘Come, let’s walk back along the canal,’ she said, taking her sister’s hand. ‘I think we can afford an ice cream.’ As if that would make everything all right.
They rested some more in the sun on a bench beside the canal, wanting to postpone their return to the cluttered room in Leopoldstadt for as long as possible. Ruth’s irritable sighs and sideways glances had quickly let them know their presence was a trial, and Sophie’s attempts to teach her English were an ordeal for both parties. Ruth was a scatterbrain and Sophie too tired and worried to be patient. She had a feeling their trial period would soon be over and that it wouldn’t be extended, which was disappointing; she’d thought she and Ruth might have become friends. The girls Sophie used to go around with at school had mostly dropped her over the past year, once the inconvenient truth about her Jewish father had emerged, and the women she worked with at the library were years older, with different interests and concerns. Sophie was lonely, and being with Ruth gave her some comfort.
Yet Ruth didn’t seem to have the time or the inclination for anything so frivolous as friendship. That evening, however, they heard her singing as they climbed upstairs, and found her cooking noodles at the communal hotplate on the landing. She’d had a successful afternoon busking and was making supper for three. ‘You can wash up, OK?’ she told Sophie and Hanna.
They had just sat down on the floor with their plates on their laps when someone hammered on the door. There was nowhere to hide so they sat there, frozen, until Ruth got up to answer the summons. Their visitor was familiar: Esme Slater walked into the room, wearing a black cocktail frock and high heels with a fur coat slung over her shoulders, looking more out of place than ever.
‘I’m sorry to call unannounced,’ she began, not sounding sorry at all, ‘but I have urgent news. Miss Klein, Sophie, would you mind stepping outside for a moment?’
The worst has already happened, Sophie reminded herself as she followed Mrs Slater into the dingy corridor; nothing anyone says can hurt you now. She was hollow inside, not daring to contemplate the enormity of her loss – or the hatred she felt for the Nazis, for that matter. It was safer to keep her mind empty or she would go mad.
‘A chance has arisen for your sister,’ Mrs Slater began, ‘but we have to move quickly. You remember the American couple, the Abrahams?’ Sophie nodded. ‘Well, one of the children in their group has gone down with scarlet fever and can’t travel. I thought of you straight away. The Abrahams have secured pre-arranged visas and it should be possible to substitute Hanna’s name for that of the sick child. She’s healthy, I presume?’
‘Yes, but—’
Mrs Slater cut her off. ‘You realise this is a miracle, don’t you? Anyone would think your mother was looking out for Hanna.’
The old Sophie might have asked whether there were other children on the waiting list more deserving of a miracle than her sister. She considered that idea briefly before dismissing it. ‘So what happens next?’
‘Good girl,’ Mrs Slater said briskly. ‘You must both be at the train station tomorrow morning by eight. I’ll meet you there and smooth over any last-minute hitches with the Abrahams. They and the children will be travelling to Berlin for physical examinations and final processing before catching the boat to New York a couple of days later. Hanna may bring one suitcase.’
‘We don’t have a suitcase,’ Sophie replied.
‘Then improvise.’ Mrs Slater was already turning to leave.
‘Just a minute.’ Sophie caught her arm. ‘This couple, the Abrahams: they’re all right, aren’t they? I mean, they’ll look after the children on the journey, and once they get to America?’ She hadn’t even asked what would happen then.
‘What an extraordinary question,’ Mrs Slater remarked. ‘These children are the lucky ones, believe you me. Everything’s been arranged: they’ll be fostered until their parents are in a position to join or send for them. In Hanna’s case, of course, that doesn’t apply.’
‘She has me, though!’ Sophie spoke more loudly than she’d intended. ‘You understand this move isn’t permanent? When Hitler’s no longer in power, I’ll be coming to fetch my sister home.’
Mrs Slater looked at her for a few seconds without speaking. With her slanting, hooded eyes and beaky nose, she reminded Sophie of a bird of prey. ‘Of course, my dear,’ she said eventually, ‘but a lot can happen before then. For now, you have to let Hanna go.’
She doesn’t believe I’ll make it, Sophie realised with a shock; either that, or she thinks the Germans will always be in charge of Austria. ‘I understand,’ she replied, icy calm. ‘I’ll be collecting my sister, though. She belongs here with me.’
‘Why can’t you come to America, too?’ Hanna whispered, her eyes glistening in the dim light.
Sophie smoothed back her hair. It was strange, the need she felt to touch Hanna these days. They had never been a particularly tactile family but now she was always holding her sister’s hand or putting an arm around her bony, sloping shoulders: as if to pack years’ worth of caresses into a few days. Maybe she was trying to comfort herself as much as Hanna.
‘I’m too old,’ she said quietly. ‘But we can write to each other and as soon as I can, I’ll come for you.’
‘But how will you and Mutti know where I am?’ Hanna’s voice had risen and Sophie put a finger to her lips; they were trying not to disturb Ruth, who was sleeping on the couch nearby.
‘You mustn’t worry about that,’ she replied. ‘The Abrahams will tell us where you are, I’ll make sure of that. You won’t simply disappear.’ This was her greatest fear, almost too overwhelming to be spoken aloud.
‘I don’t want to go,’ Hanna said. ‘You can’t force me. I want to stay here with you until Mutti comes back.’
‘Listen to me, Liebchen.’ Sophie propped herself up on one elbow. ‘I know it seems daunting, travelling so far away on your own, but you’re a brave, clever girl and the Abrahams are giving you the most wonderful chance. You’ll be free! No one will hate you in America – other children will want to be your friend, and there’ll be plenty to eat and parks where you’ll be allowed to play, and the Nazis won’t ever find you. Mutti would be so disappointed if you didn’t go.’
‘Does she know?’
‘Yes,’ Sophie said, without thinking twice. ‘She wants what’s best for you and she’s so happy to hear you’re going on this adventure. As soon as she can, she’ll write. Mrs Slater’s going to give me the address.’
Hanna traced the outline of Sophie’s cheek with her finger. ‘An adventure?’ she repeated.
‘Of course! Sailing across the ocean with lots of other children, and plenty of ice cream waiting for you in New York.’ She settled Hanna’s teddy in her arms as though she were a toddler and not a girl of nine. ‘Now turn over and go to sleep and the morning will come before you know it.’
Hanna did as she was told. She cuddled her teddy and Sophie cuddled her, dozing fitfully as she waited for dawn to break and remembering the times Hanna had crawled into her big sister’s bed when she couldn’t sleep. Sophie had occasionally resented the time she’d had to spend looking after her little sister while her friends were out having fun; now she wished for those precious hours back so she could live them again. Hanna was part of her: letting her go would be like losing a limb, yet it was the right thing – the only thing – to do. At one point during that endless night, she sensed their mother’s presence in the dark, telling her to be strong and unafraid and promising she would always be with them. The lightest of kisses touched her forehead, as though she had been brushed by angels’ wings.
As soon as it was light, she slipped out of bed and took her skirt and blouse from the back of the chair. A creak of springs made her turn around to see Ruth sitting on the edge of the couch in men’s pyjamas, watching her.
‘All ready?’ she asked.
‘As ready as we’ll ever be.’ Her rucksack and a pillowcase sat waiting, packed with the few random things Sophie had grabbed from Hanna’s bedroom before they left their home: a change of clothes, a couple of books and a framed photograph she had taken of Hanna with her parents one summer at Lake Achensee, with the mountains in the background. She had the same snapshot in her own bag.
‘She’s a lucky girl, your sister,’ Ruth said. ‘Don’t you think it strange this chance should suddenly materialise in the nick of time?’
Sophie frowned. ‘What are you implying?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Ruth yawned and scratched her arm. ‘I can’t work Mrs Slater out, that’s all. She seems to be taking a personal interest in you and I’m not sure why.’
‘Do you think I shouldn’t let Hanna go to America?’
‘Are you crazy? Of course you must!’ Ruth peeled off her pyjama top and pulled an embroidered dress over her head. ‘We have to survive and tell the world how these bastards are treating us. There’ll be a day of reckoning; that’s what I’m living for.’ She emerged, scooping her curls into a topknot and tying it deftly with a shoelace. ‘I’ll come with you to the train station.’
‘You don’t have to,’ Sophie said, though she was pleased by the offer. She couldn’t let herself break down in front of Ruth, and maybe Hanna would stay strong, too.
‘That’s all right. I’m thinking of taking a journey myself.’
Sophie would have asked Ruth what she meant but now Hanna was awake so all her energy had to be concentrated on her. She tried to imagine what their mother would say in this situation, and failed: the whole scenario was too unlikely.
‘Bags me the bathroom,’ Ruth said, taking the key from its hook and making for the door. If it had been anyone else, Sophie might have thought they were being tactful.
She watched Hanna dress, her face giving nothing away. ‘Shall I plait your hair?’ she asked, though she was nowhere near as deft as Ingrid had been.
‘I can manage,’ Hanna said, so Sophie passed her the hairbrush. There was no point babying her sister any longer: she’d have to look after herself soon enough.
‘Think of all the other children getting ready this morning and feeling just as nervous as you,’ she said. ‘Things are bound to be strange at first, but I bet you’ll soon make friends.’
If only she’d had time to prepare for this sudden parting! She rifled through her rucksack, looking for any other reminder of home that Hanna could take with her. And then her fingers touched the knife and fork that some impulse had made her snatch from the kitchen table, under the nose of the couple who were throwing her and Hanna out of their apartment.
‘Take these,’ she said, putting the cutlery into her sister’s pillowcase. ‘Promise me you won’t forget the meals we ate together.’
After an apple between the two of them and a glass of milk for breakfast, they caught the bus for the train station. Ruth took her violin; Sophie assumed she would be trying her luck busking later. Hanna didn’t speak and she wouldn’t rest her head on Sophie’s shoulder; she sat with a straight back, staring out of the window with the pillowcase resting on her lap. Vienna sparkled in the early-morning light, but Sophie’s heart had turned against it. What was the point of such beauty when people were behaving like brutes? The endless windows, terraces and statues of Schloss Belvedere beyond the window sickened her. This was her father’s world of culture and history and it counted for nothing in the end; palaces and monuments were built out of vanity, offering only the illusion of civilisation. She wished she were leaving the city, too.
‘It’s for the best,’ she muttered, almost to herself.
‘I know that,’ Hanna said, and Sophie caught a glimpse of the young woman she would become. She took her sister’s hand and held it, and Hanna didn’t pull away.
Although it was early in the morning, traffic was already thick and their bus was held up at a checkpoint for what seemed an age. Two German soldiers armed with rifles climbed on board, inspecting the passengers and checking their tickets. Sophie’s hand shook as she held out hers and she kept her eyes lowered, but the man only glanced at her before smiling and patting her sister on the head. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed Hanna was a lucky charm. Sophie seized Ruth’s wrist to look at her watch, her heart pounding; the minutes were ticking by and at this rate, they were in danger of missing the train. At last, however, the soldiers disembarked and the bus pulled slowly away. ‘Come on, come on!’ Sophie muttered to herself, digging her fingernails into her sweating palms.
By the time they’d reached the station, a crowd of children and their parents had already gathered on the concourse. Esme Slater broke away as soon as she spotted them.
‘Thank goodness,’ she said, hurrying forward. ‘I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind. There isn’t much time. Hanna, come and meet Mr and Mrs Abrahams.’ She pulled her away, Sophie following on behind.
The Abrahams were instantly recognisable as foreign from the cut of their clothes, the whiteness of their teeth and some indefinable self-assurance that radiated from them. Mr Abrahams was a pleasant middle-aged man with regular features and broad shoulders; his wife a little younger in a straw hat and a blue frock splashed with crimson roses. She looked glamorous rather than motherly, and Sophie was suddenly ashamed of her own drab brown skirt and serviceable blouse. Sophie held her breath as Mrs Slater drew Mrs Abrahams aside to speak to her and push Hanna forward. The American woman smiled, bending down to raise Hanna’s chin with her hand and look her in the face. Hanna smiled back, breaking Sophie’s heart because she could tell the effort it cost her sister not to cry. Beside them, a small boy aged about five was clinging to his mother’s leg with both arms while his father tried to prise him loose. It was agonising to watch; Sophie looked quickly away.
And now Mrs Slater was bringing Hanna back to her. ‘Time to say your goodbyes,’ she told them. ‘Short and sweet would be my advice.’
Sophie gathered her wits, crouched beside her sister and hugged her close. ‘Be happy and work hard,’ she whispered. ‘Stand up for yourself and don’t forget me. I’ll come for you, I promise. And in the meantime, I’ll write as soon as I’m settled and let you know where I am.’
