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Her bones were sinking into the soft mattress. She knew she was awake, but she did not yet open her eyes. Instead, she let herself feel the bed conforming to her shape, cradling her battered body with a gentle resistance to gravity, and perhaps to despair.
Docteur Lafrange had seemed like an angel, or perhaps a human form possessed by her father's spirit.
"I knew your father, Delphine," he had said last night, "he was a good doctor, a good man," and that was enough to make her give in, to collapse into being taken care of, to let down her guard. She had been so very tired, only her fear, adrenaline and Danielle's urging had kept her moving through the shadows, through the streets, to reach this safe house.
He had given her painkillers and a sedative, so his gentle treatment of her wounds, along with Madame Lafrange's tender cleansing and clothing of her body and ministration of hand-fed soup, were only part-remembered, fading in and out as her consciousness had, her brain slowing and shutting down until she was laid to rest.
It was only a few hours later that she had awoken, crying out, and Danielle came to her, holding her as sobs rent her uncontrollably, her whole being shaking with the small release this respite allowed.
"There, my girl. You are going to be strong, Delphine. Let it out, and it won't break you," Danielle had assured her fiercely into her hair as Delphine's moans turned to harsh exhales against the smaller woman's shoulder. When Delphine caught a scent she realized the journalist had re-applied her perfume, and it somehow grounded her, knowing that this woman who held her was persistent, dignified, and determined to keep moving on as she chose to in the face of all that was evil with defiance. It made Delphine feel as though she could, too.
Now a small slash of white light crossing her face from the edge of the curtain signaled to her even through her closed eyelids that morning had come. The sun had indeed risen and, even now, voices and sounds came softly through the window-glass from outside, attesting to the fact that, despite everything, Parisians were living their lives in this city draped and muffled by the caul of occupation.
It is said that whoever possesses a caul will never drown, some corner of Delphine's mind whispered, and she thanked it. May France, as inundated as it is, never fully go under, expire.
There was a small sound from the door, and Delphine pried her eyelids open, turning slightly to see Madame Lafrange peeping through.
"Ah, you're awake!" The somehow still-plump woman smiled, and turned to call over her shoulder. "She is awake, mon ours. I will tell Danielle while you check her."
The doctor soon entered, leaning over her with a kindly look.
"Good morning, Mademoiselle," he rumbled from beneath his greying beard. "Allow me to check your dressings."
Delphine nodded and felt her consciousness slowly returning as he placed a thermometer in her mouth and inspected her bandages, gently probing around her bruises with his fingertips. She flinched now and then, but only slightly, as he released his hands' pressure at any sign of tenderness. He took out and read the thermometer and nodded with satisfaction.
"Good. I wanted to make sure you hadn't broken a rib, after all. Despite what you've been through, I think it's mostly surface. There will be scars, but with good care, you will feel healthy enough again soon."
Mostly surface, Delphine thought to herself, if you don't count my soul. Her inhalations felt slightly tremulous, as if the sobs were still lurking just underneath her breath.
Madame Lafrange entered, carrying a tray. There was tea on it, sliced melon, and, most heavenly of all, fresh toasted bread with preserves.
"Here you are, Mademoiselle. You need to get some food in you." She noticed Delphine's raised eyebrows as she gazed at the toast.
"Ah, yes, the bread. We are very fortunate. Some of my husband's patients pay him in flour, and so forth. Of course, if we find an injured stray who is hungry, we will feed her." Her smile was warm.
"Delphine," came Danielle's voice from the door. She sauntered into the room, a smoking cigarette dangling from her fingers. "You look well. You have some colour in your cheeks, now."
Delphine felt a small smile ghost across her lips. "Yes, I'm improving," she answered, adjusting the napkin that Mme. Lafrange had draped across her chest, "and I have you to thank."
Danielle let out a little pffft of dismissal, smoke streaming from between her lips with it.
"I saw you pushing on that board, too," she shrugged, "and as a journalist, I have to make many friendly contacts around the city. Speaking of which…" She took the chair beside Delphine's bed and paused. The good doctor and his wife seemed to take her cue and, with assurances to come back later, slipped out of the room.
Danielle put down a small ashtray that had been in her other hand on the side table. She tapped her cigarette into it.
"Smoke?" she asked, nodding at the smouldering stick. Delphine shook her head.
"Perhaps later, thank you," she said.
"Alright," Danielle acknowledged. "What I was going to say is, you have contacts of your own, I'm sure. Is there anyone you need to reach?"
Delphine's eyes widened a bit in thought.
"No, I… one of my last contacts turned out to be… compromised, so…" She hesitated. "Unless you are able to reach the SOE or OSS?"
Danielle raised her eyebrows and blew out a plume of smoke.
"Hmm, it sounds like our high-society beauty was perhaps in deeper with our cause than we thought." One corner of her mouth turned upwards. She was both teasing and serious. "No, I don't personally have direct contacts with the English or the Americans, but I certainly know people who do. Tell me, Delphine, how were you able to reach our allies without being noticed for so long?"
Delphine exhaled. Finally someone she could talk to about this. But, she should still be cautious.
"I had a two-way wireless — top of the line — because my father was an enthusiast. I had agents across the channel that I spoke with, along with some other… unconventional methods of contact."
Danielle looked impressed.
"It must have been top of the line, for voice contact across that distance. I assume they confiscated or destroyed it?"
"Yes," Delphine answered simply. Glancing down with an unexpected wave of sadness. It was like losing part of her family all over again… her father's legacy, and the funny American woman who had been her only close friend for some time.
"Of course," Danielle sighed. "Well, I can get messages through via word of mouth and Morse code in stages, but I'm not sure who specifically we'll reach, or how long it will take. What would you like to say?"
Delphine's eyes snapped up to meet Danielle's. Her voice sounded uncertain when it came out, but something in her eyes betrayed a deeper hope or yearning than Danielle had expected.
"Tell them… tell them to reach station 17. Tell them the Swan is looking for the Dove."
A smirk played around Danielle's lips.
"That is… very poetic," she finally said, "and mysterious." Then she moved on. "Fine. The other thing is, you are also well-known among certain circles, as well. We have to decide if we should get you out of the city, or, if you stay, we'll have to alter your appearance."
Delphine swallowed her bite of toast and sipped her tea, thoughtful.
"Well, it seems you should know what is the safest for everyone," she responded. "It's not me I'm worried about. I don't want to jeopardize you or your friends."
Danielle tilted her head, puffing her cigarette.
"You are a good person Delphine," she said, "and I'm sure the resistance can use your help, yet."