still in her room and ran upstairs. She opened the door then retreated to the bed again, sitting with her knees to her chest and the blankets pulled around her.
Aunt Josephine followed after me, her face grim. ‘It’s all confirmed now and there’s nothing to do but what I dreaded most. I must send you girls away. God in heaven knows I’d do anything to keep you with me. You are like my own daughters. But I must think about your welfare, for it is better to have you far away and in safe hands than close by and in danger.’
The lamp I had placed on the side table flickered. The flame died then ignited more brightly than before.
‘There,’ said Aunt Josephine. ‘It’s your mother. She’s telling me she agrees with my decision.’
‘What decision?’ asked Klara, her eyes wide with fear. She had no idea what had passed.
Aunt Josephine grabbed our hands and squeezed them in her own. ‘I’m sending you to Ota. To Australia.’
Klara and I hardly had time to grasp what Aunt Josephine had said before Hilda appeared at the door. Aunt Josephine nodded to her. ‘We must get them out of Prague without Milosh knowing.’
FIVE
T he next weeks were full of secrecy and fear. Doctor Holub was our co-conspirator. He organised our passports through the British Consulate, and correspondence from Aunt Josephine to Uncle Ota was to pass through him to avoid leaving a trail from her to Australia.
‘I have booked tickets on a ship sailing to New York in the young ladies’ names, as well as the passage to Australia, to throw anyone off the scent,’ he explained to Aunt Josephine when she and I went to see him to make the final arrangements. ‘But there’s one problem. Pan Dolezal will not be inclined to sign permission for the girls’ allowance if he does not know where they are.’
‘What do you suggest?’ asked Aunt Josephine. ‘I can wire them money.’
‘Enough to last them until they are twenty-one?’ asked Doctor Holub.
Aunt Josephine’s inheritance was tied up in her house and I was horrified at the idea that she might sell it in order to support us. I was relieved when Doctor Holub added, ‘Wiring money might be too much of a risk. Someone at the bank may contact Milosh and the girls will be traced.’
‘But I cannot ask Ota to support them,’ said Aunt Josephine.
‘Is he so very poor?’ asked Doctor Holub.
‘He is not starving,’ said Aunt Josephine. ‘But he is not well off either.’
‘Well,’ said Doctor Holub, ‘send the young ladies with as much money as they can safely take with them. They will have to live simply until they come into their fortune. The important thing is to get them out of the country.’
‘I wish we could go to the police,’ I told Aunt Josephine on our way home. The flower sellers were out on the streets and everywhere I looked there were buckets of roses, lilies and daffodils. But the colours and scents of the flowers could not cheer me.
‘We can’t, without evidence or witnesses willing to testify,’ replied Aunt Josephine.
We walked by Madame Bouquet’s drapery, which had been Mother’s favourite shop. We admired some glazed floral chintzes and gold-embroidered silks. Every time Mother and I had passed this way, we stopped to look at the fabrics. It occurred to me that I may never see the shop again. Everywhere I went in Prague these days, I was bidding some well-loved pleasure farewell.
‘Won’t you come with us?’ I asked Aunt Josephine. ‘When we are gone you won’t be safe in Prague. What if Milosh threatens you to get information…’
I stopped. I could not bring myself to imagine what Milosh or the assassin might do to Aunt Josephine to make her talk.
‘I have Hilda and Frip,’ Aunt Josephine replied. ‘I can’t adapt to foreign countries and I am too old to change. But you and Klara are young and speak English. Uncle Ota will look after you. I know that, and your mother knew it too.’
When Aunt Josephine used to read Uncle
Aunt Josephine followed after me, her face grim. ‘It’s all confirmed now and there’s nothing to do but what I dreaded most. I must send you girls away. God in heaven knows I’d do anything to keep you with me. You are like my own daughters. But I must think about your welfare, for it is better to have you far away and in safe hands than close by and in danger.’
The lamp I had placed on the side table flickered. The flame died then ignited more brightly than before.
‘There,’ said Aunt Josephine. ‘It’s your mother. She’s telling me she agrees with my decision.’
‘What decision?’ asked Klara, her eyes wide with fear. She had no idea what had passed.
Aunt Josephine grabbed our hands and squeezed them in her own. ‘I’m sending you to Ota. To Australia.’
Klara and I hardly had time to grasp what Aunt Josephine had said before Hilda appeared at the door. Aunt Josephine nodded to her. ‘We must get them out of Prague without Milosh knowing.’
FIVE
T he next weeks were full of secrecy and fear. Doctor Holub was our co-conspirator. He organised our passports through the British Consulate, and correspondence from Aunt Josephine to Uncle Ota was to pass through him to avoid leaving a trail from her to Australia.
‘I have booked tickets on a ship sailing to New York in the young ladies’ names, as well as the passage to Australia, to throw anyone off the scent,’ he explained to Aunt Josephine when she and I went to see him to make the final arrangements. ‘But there’s one problem. Pan Dolezal will not be inclined to sign permission for the girls’ allowance if he does not know where they are.’
‘What do you suggest?’ asked Aunt Josephine. ‘I can wire them money.’
‘Enough to last them until they are twenty-one?’ asked Doctor Holub.
Aunt Josephine’s inheritance was tied up in her house and I was horrified at the idea that she might sell it in order to support us. I was relieved when Doctor Holub added, ‘Wiring money might be too much of a risk. Someone at the bank may contact Milosh and the girls will be traced.’
‘But I cannot ask Ota to support them,’ said Aunt Josephine.
‘Is he so very poor?’ asked Doctor Holub.
‘He is not starving,’ said Aunt Josephine. ‘But he is not well off either.’
‘Well,’ said Doctor Holub, ‘send the young ladies with as much money as they can safely take with them. They will have to live simply until they come into their fortune. The important thing is to get them out of the country.’
‘I wish we could go to the police,’ I told Aunt Josephine on our way home. The flower sellers were out on the streets and everywhere I looked there were buckets of roses, lilies and daffodils. But the colours and scents of the flowers could not cheer me.
‘We can’t, without evidence or witnesses willing to testify,’ replied Aunt Josephine.
We walked by Madame Bouquet’s drapery, which had been Mother’s favourite shop. We admired some glazed floral chintzes and gold-embroidered silks. Every time Mother and I had passed this way, we stopped to look at the fabrics. It occurred to me that I may never see the shop again. Everywhere I went in Prague these days, I was bidding some well-loved pleasure farewell.
‘Won’t you come with us?’ I asked Aunt Josephine. ‘When we are gone you won’t be safe in Prague. What if Milosh threatens you to get information…’
I stopped. I could not bring myself to imagine what Milosh or the assassin might do to Aunt Josephine to make her talk.
‘I have Hilda and Frip,’ Aunt Josephine replied. ‘I can’t adapt to foreign countries and I am too old to change. But you and Klara are young and speak English. Uncle Ota will look after you. I know that, and your mother knew it too.’
When Aunt Josephine used to read Uncle
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