‘What happened to him?’ he asked.
‘He died in jail. He’d been there since a few months before Hugo was born. He never even got to meet him.’
Pierrot thought about this. He’d never known anyone who’d been to jail. He remembered reading about Philippe, the brother of King Louis XIII in The Man in the Iron Mask, who’d been falsely imprisoned in the Bastille; even the idea of such a fate had given him nightmares.
‘Why was he in jail?’ he asked.
‘Our brother, like your father, fought in the Great War,’ Simone told him. ‘And while some men were able to return to their normal lives after the fighting ended, there were many – the vast majority, I believe – who were unable to cope with the memories of what they’d seen and what they’d done. Of course, there are doctors who have done everything they can to make the world understand the traumas of what took place twenty years ago. You only have to think of the work of Dr Jules Persoinne here in France or Dr Alfie Summerfield in England, who have made it their life’s work to educate the public on how the previous generation suffered and how it is our responsibility to help them.’
‘My father was like that,’ said Pierrot. ‘Maman always said that although he didn’t die in the Great War, it was the war that killed him.’
‘Yes,’ said Simone, nodding. ‘I understand what she meant. It was the same with Jacques. He was such a wonderful boy, so full of life and fun. The epitome of kindness. But afterwards, when he came home . . . well, he was very different. And he did some terrible things. But he had served his country with honour.’ She stood up and walked across to the glass cabinet, opening the little latch at the front and removing the medal that Pierrot had stared at on the day he’d arrived. ‘Would you like to hold it?’ she asked, offering it to him.
The boy nodded and took it carefully in his hands, running his fingers across the figure that was moulded onto the front.
‘He was given that for bravery,’ she said, taking it back and replacing it in the cabinet. ‘That’s all we have of him now. Over the decade that followed he was in and out of jail on many occasions. Adèle and I visited often, but we hated it. To see him there in such horrible conditions, treated so badly by a country for which he had sacrificed his peace of mind. It was a tragedy – and not just for us but for so many families. Yours included, Pierrot – am I right?’
He nodded but said nothing.
‘Jacques died in prison and we’ve looked after Hugo ever since. A few years ago we talked to him about how our parents treated his mother and how our country treated his father. Perhaps he was too young and we should have waited until he was more mature. He has a great anger inside him now, and unfortunately that’s something that manifests itself in his treatment of the other orphans. But you mustn’t be too hard on him, Pierrot. Perhaps he picks on you the most because you are the one with whom he has the most in common.’
Pierrot thought about this and tried to feel sympathy for Hugo, but it wasn’t easy. After all, as Simone had pointed out, their fathers had gone through similar experiences, but he didn’t go around making life miserable for everyone else.
‘At least it came to an end,’ he said finally. ‘The war, I mean. There won’t be another one, will there?’
‘I hope not,’ replied Simone as the door to the office swung open and Adèle entered, brandishing a letter in her hand.
‘There you are!’ she said, looking from one to the other. ‘I’ve been looking for you both. What on earth happened to you?’ she asked, leaning down and examining the bruises on Pierrot’s face.
‘I was in a fight,’ he said.
‘Did you win?’
‘No.’
‘Ah,’ she replied. ‘Hard luck. But I think this will cheer you up. You’ve had some good news. You’re going to be leaving us soon.’
Pierrot looked from one sister to the other in surprise. ‘A family wants me?’ he asked.
‘Not just any family,’ said Adèle, smiling. ‘Your family. Your own family, I mean.’
‘Adèle, will you please explain what’s going on?’ asked Simone, reaching across to take the letter from her sister’s hands and running her eyes across the envelope. ‘Austria?’ she said in surprise, noticing the postmark.
‘It’s from your aunt Beatrix,’ said Adèle, looking at Pierrot.
‘But I’ve never even met her!’
‘Well, she knows all about you. You can read it. She’s only recently found out about what happened to your mother. She wants you to come and live with her.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Three Train Journeys
Before waving him off at Orleans, Adèle handed Pierrot a parcel of sandwiches and told him to eat them only when he was very hungry as they had to last for the entire trip, which would take more than ten hours.
‘Now, I’ve pinned the names of all three stops to your lapel,’ she added, fussing around him as she made sure that each scrap of paper was securely fastened to his coat. ‘And every time you arrive at a station whose name matches one of these, make sure you get off and change on to the next train.’
‘Here,’ said Simone, reaching into her bag and passing a small gift across, neatly wrapped in brown paper. ‘We thought this might help to pass the time. It will remind you of the months you spent with us.’
Pierrot kissed them both on the cheek, thanked them for all they had done for him and boarded the train, choosing a carriage where a woman and a young boy were already seated. The lady stared at him irritably as he sat down, as if she and the boy had hoped to have the carriage entirely to themselves, but said nothing as she returned to her newspaper while the boy picked up a packet of sweets from the seat next to him and put them in his pocket. Pierrot sat by the window as the train pulled out, and waved at Simone and Adèle before looking down at the first note attached to his lapel. He read the word carefully to himself:
Mannheim.
He had said goodbye to his friends the previous night, and Josette had been the only one who seemed sorry to see him go.
‘Are you sure you haven’t a found a family to adopt you?’ she asked. ‘You’re not just trying to make the rest of us feel better?’
‘No,’ said Pierrot. ‘I can show you my aunt’s letter if you like.’
‘So how did she track you down?’
‘Anshel’s mother was sorting through some of my mother’s things and she found the address. She wrote to tell Aunt Beatrix what had happened and gave her the details of the orphanage.’
‘And now she wants you to go to live with her?’
‘Yes,’ said Pierrot.
Josette shook her head. ‘Is she married?’ she said.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Then what does she do? How does she earn a living?’
‘She’s a housekeeper.’
‘A housekeeper?’ asked Josette.
‘Yes. What’s wrong with that?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with it, Pierrot, per se,’ she replied, having read this phrase recently in a book and been determined ever since to find an opportunity to use it. ‘It’s a little bourgeois, of course, but what can you do? And what about the family whose house she takes care of – what type of people are they?’