And they have to sleep in the outhouse, Hilde thought, guiltily. She’d looked into the outhouse once, when she’d been younger. It was dark, dank and smelly; the maids had to take showers before they were allowed to enter the house. Mother can’t even give them a proper bedroom.
She picked up the tray and hurried back into the dining room. The discussion had turned into a working party, Frau Morgenstern taking ideas from her friends and working them into a coherent whole. Hilde would have been impressed if she hadn’t been so worried about just what her mother would do, once she had her protest groups organised. Or, for that matter, just what would happen if the SS arrested the women before they could do anything. Hilde had no illusions about her mother’s backstabbing tendencies and she had a nasty feeling that one or more of the well-dressed women sitting in the room shared them. A single word to the SS would be enough to bring Frau Morgenstern and her husband before a tribunal. And who knew what would happen then?
A hand touched her shoulder. She flinched and looked up. A maid was standing just behind her, looking terrified.
“My Lady, your father has returned home,” the maid said. Her voice was so quiet that Hilde had to force herself to listen just to make out the words. “He requests your presence in his study.”
“I understand,” Hilde said. At least it was an excuse for not listening to the older women for the next few hours. “Thank you.”
She saw a disapproving expression flicker across her mother’s face as she rose – one did not thank Untermenschen – and knew she’d be in trouble later, but she did her best to ignore it as she hurried out of the room and headed up the stairs. Her father rarely talked to her – Hilde was sometimes surprised that her parents had managed to produce a single child – and she was torn between a surprised delight and a gnawing fear at the sudden summons. Bracing herself, she tapped on the door and stepped into her father’s office.
“Hilde,” her father said, looking up from his ledgers. “Sit.”
Hilde nodded and sat down, resting her hands on her lap. She’d never been entirely sure of what her father did for a living, although she did know it was a high-paying job somewhere in the tangled web that made up the Ministry of Industry. And it granted social status as well, she knew, enough to turn her mother into a power on the social scene. It wasn’t the kind of life Hilde wanted for herself – she hadn’t gone to the university to become yet another gossipy housewife – but at least it made her mother happy.
She studied her father thoughtfully as he reached the end of the page and closed the book with a resounding thud. Unlike her big mother, Arthur Morgenstern was actually quite a small man, with a tacky suit, greying hair and a face that – she thought privately – resembled a weasel. She had wondered, from time to time, why her father hadn’t hired someone to give him a makeover, but she supposed he was rich and important enough not to need one.
“Hilde,” Arthur Morgenstern said. “I trust your marks are as high as always?”
Hilde hesitated, just for a second. Her father wasn’t a strong man, not in her opinion, although in some ways that was actually a blessing. She’d had friends with strong fathers and they had all been married off as soon as they’d reached legal age, practically given to men their fathers had chosen. And he had never tried to discipline Hilde, leaving all such matters to her mother. She sometimes wondered if he really cared for either his daughter or his wife.
“My marks are high,” she said, finally. “I’m still planning to study computers if I can get into the classes.”
“Good, good,” her father said. He looked up suddenly. “I hope you were not playing games with your tutors.”
Hilde coloured. She’d heard the rumours about Professor Murken – she had no idea who’d started them or why – but she had never touched or been touched by any of her tutors. Hell, as far as they knew, she hadn’t even had a boyfriend! Being with Martin had been fun, but she knew her parents would have hauled her out of the university if they suspected, even for a second, that she was having an ‘unsuitable’ relationship.
“No, father,” she said. “They have been nothing but proper to me.”
“Good,” her father said. He cocked his head, slightly. “I’ve heard a vague rumour that the leaflets came out of the university, Hilde. Would you care to comment?”
“I have heard the same rumour,” Hilde said. He didn’t suspect her, did he? She had no idea how he could have suspected her. Her parents practically treated her as an extension of themselves. “Father, I know no one at the university who would dare write such leaflets.”
“Your mother apparently received a copy,” her father said. “Did you give it to her?”
“No, father,” Hilde lied. If he knew already, if one of the maids had reported her slipping it into the pile of letters for her mother, she was doomed. He’d pull her out of the university and send her to one of the finishing schools in Switzerland, where young female brains were turned into mush. It wasn’t as if her parents couldn’t afford the fees. “I wouldn’t dare pass on one of those leaflets.”
“A sensible attitude,” her father said, blandly. “Should you discover who happened to write the leaflets, Hilde, you will inform me at once.”
“Yes, father,” Hilde said. She knew better than to argue openly. She’d just keep her mouth shut and pray the group was never uncovered by the SS. “May I ask a question?”
“You may,” her father said, after a moment. “I do not, of course, promise to answer.”
Hilde took a breath. “Are the claims in the leaflets true?”
“Of course not,” her father said, too quickly. “They’re lies, lies put about to weaken the Reich. We had similar problems in the sixties with radicals who were influenced by American ideals. They were rapidly crushed.”
He shook his head. “The fools who wrote and distributed these leaflets may think they’re doing the right thing,” he added, after a moment. “They’re young, of course; only a youngster would have the conceit to believe they could change the world by distributing leaflets. But they’re wrong. They’re very wrong. They’re undermining the Reich itself, Hilde.”
Hilde couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. “Is that wrong?”
Her father gave her a sharp look. “You studied Rome, didn’t you?”
“Yes, father,” Hilde said. She’d found history boring, but she remembered a few details. “I had to read about the Romans for school.”
“Brutus killed Julius Caesar,” her father said. “Do you recall that part of the story?”
Hilde shrugged. Her lessons had centred around the great Teutonic heroes who’d brought down the Italians and established, once and for all, that Germans would never be slaves as long as they stood united. She recalled Julius Caesar, but only in passing.
“Brutus and his comrades had no plan for what would happen after Julius Caesar was brutally murdered,” her father said, after a moment. “He had no idea how to capitalise on his success, so he did nothing as events slipped out of hand. And so, instead of the successful restoration of the Roman Republic, Emperor Augustus rose to power.”
“I see, father,” Hilde said.