“Gerrit?” Ivy dashed out.
He stood by the receptionist’s desk in a gray civilian suit and homburg, gaping at the overturned chairs.
“Come.” She pulled him into the examination room and shut the door in case patients arrived.
“The field police?” His face contorted, and he reached for her.
She fell into his arms. “It’s Charlie. He tried to escape last night,but the Germans shot and injured him. He evaded them, but we don’t know where he is or how badly he’s injured or if he’s even alive.”
“Oh no.” He pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “He left a note at the farm.”
“He did? I wanted to warn Uncle Arthur. The police may raid the farm.”
“They realized that.” His chest rose and fell under her cheek. “They burnt all the evidence, sent Bernardus to a neighbor. You’ll need to tell the ring to move him straightaway.”
“I sent Aunt Ruby with the message.” Her breathing slowed in the warmth of Gerrit’s embrace. “I’m glad Uncle Arthur recognized the danger.”
“I am too.” He settled a kiss on her forehead. “Charlie—do you have any idea where he might have gone?”
“No. I can only imagine him coming here or to Aunt Ruby’s or to the farm, but he didn’t. The note—what did he say?” She raised her head.
Hesitation swam in his green-blue eyes, and his Adam’s apple dropped to his collar and rose again. “He went with three of his friends from Victoria College.”
Ivy groaned. “That explains why he’s met with them lately.”
“They’re all of age. They want to serve in the forces. Do you know—were the others captured? Shot?”
“They escaped by boat. Only Charlie—” Her throat clamped off. Her brother—her bright, lively, compassionate, clever brother.
“If they didn’t capture him,” Gerrit said, “how do they know it’s Charlie who was shot?”
“He dropped his bag. It has his name on it. Oh, Gerrit, your maps were in the bag. The Germans have them.”
Gerrit grimaced and scrunched his eyes shut. “I was afraid of that.”
She clutched at his back. “What if they figure out how to develop the ink?”
His eyes inched open, just enough to meet her gaze. “The maps—that’s one of the reasons Charlie tried to escape.”
“Yes...” Charlie must have wanted to deliver them to the British.
Gerrit’s jaw shifted forward and back, and his eyebrows bunched together. “His escape attempt is partly my fault.”
“Your fault?”
“A few weeks ago at the farm, I was upset and walked out. You followed me. We were by an open window. Charlie heard me.”
The conversation grazed through her mind. Gerrit had called his work a mist in the wind. He’d mentioned diagrams of use to the Allies, trapped in Aunt Opal’s scrap bag. And Charlie, always thoughtful, always generous, had heard Gerrit’s rant.
Her breath puffed through her nostrils. “He did it for you.”
“He did.” Gerrit’s words came out choked. “Yes, he also went so he could fight for Britain, but I accept full responsibility.”
Ivy tugged on his suit jacket. “Now he’s bleeding somewhere, in pain, dying, maybe already dead. My little brother.”
His face crumpled, but he kept his gaze on her. “I’m so sorry, Ivy.”
Her hands clenched fistfuls of gray wool. For the first time in her life, she wanted to hit someone. She wanted to hit Gerrit.
