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“How does helplessness feel, Herr Hauptmann?” Fabienne smiled.

He tried to raise his hand to her again, but she pushed him away as easily as flicking a matchstick. He tried to lift his head and she laughed.

“I will kill you,” he said.

Fabienne put her hand on his chest and with little effort pinned him to the bed. “I don’t think so, Herr Hauptmann.” He tried to resist and failed, gave up, exhausted. “You see, you are dying, and I am not.”

“Get out of my room.”

She picked up the pillow at the side of his head and held it in her lap, patted it. “Did you know this house was built in the late 1700s?” She glanced around and up at the high, hand-painted ceilings. “It’s a work of art. Do you like art, Herr Müller? Something tells me probably not. You don’t have the intelligence to appreciate the finer qualities.” He resisted again and she pushed him down. “This annex was where the servants of guests stayed. You are a servant, Herr Hauptmann, only you serve no one except yourself.”

She watched fear register in his eyes. Anger bubbled inside her and she had to curb herself from losing complete control and beating him to death. There couldn’t be any blood, not even the sign of a struggle, no bruises to show. “How does it feel knowing for sure that you will soon take your last breath? You should be grateful. When mushroom poisoning takes a hold, which it has already, it gets very painful.”

He tried to move, to get out of bed, and she pushed him back down.

“I was hoping it would be a swift end, but you didn’t eat enough soup and I don’t have time to waste.”

He shook his head and opened his mouth as if to speak, shout out or scream. She didn’t give him the chance. She pressed the pillow over his head and leaned her weight on top of him. He made one small effort to push her off, then kicked his legs, but without power. She held the pillow in place until he stopped moving.

He looked peaceful, asleep. She ate a few mouthfuls of stew, pressed her fingers to his neck to be sure there wasn’t a pulse and exited the room with the tray. Straight into the path of Herr Schmidt.

“Guten abend, Fraulein Brun.” He clicked his heels and smiled.

Fabienne jolted. She hadn’t realised he was in his room and hoped he hadn’t heard anything. She had kept her voice low, and the walls were solid. “Guten abend, Herr Schmidt.”

He indicated towards the bedroom door, and she stepped in front of it in case he was thinking of checking in on Müller.

“How is Herr Hauptmann?”

She held the tray out in front of her, her heart racing like a train. “He is tired and not eating much, but his fever seems to have lifted.”

“That’s good news.” He sniffed. “It smells delicious.”

“Yes. Your dinner is ready for you in the kitchen.”

“Excellent. I’m starving.”

Fabienne knew of people who were starving, and Schmidt wasn’t one of them. She followed him back through the house to the kitchen. Johanna was waiting, though she didn’t smile or hold Fabienne’s gaze.

Fabienne put the tray on the side and went to the kitchen sink, so that Johanna couldn’t see she was blushing. She had to grip her feelings towards Johanna, or she would be the one to give them away.

“You two can leave now,” Johanna said to her and Mamie.

Fabienne cleared the plate and wiped down the kitchen, avoiding eye contact with Johanna then exited through the back door. She breathed the fresh air deeply into her lungs to calm her racing heart.

Mamie took a breath as if about to speak to Fabienne as they walked across the yard.

“Don’t ask,” Fabienne said. She didn’t want to talk about Müller or her deepening attraction to Johanna.

Fabienne left Mamie preparing their dinner in the cottage and headed into town.

Three people exited the church as she entered. She sat at a pew, bowed her head and prayed for Johanna and Astrid, Mamie and Nancy. She asked God what she should do about their budding relationship and waited for a response. When none came, she headed to the confessional.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a month since my last confession.”

“Good evening, my child. How have you sinned?” Father Paul said.

Fabienne would have had plenty to confess under normal circumstances. She had coveted another man’s wife and murdered a German officer, but neither were the reason she was here, and neither felt like a sin. Müller wasn’t human: he was a wild and dangerous animal, and the only way to stop him had been to put him down.