Ivy knocked on the door of a house in Gorey. Joan had sent her with potassium bromide for Mrs. Renouard, who was “rather in a hurry,” which meant an urgent case with a sick escapee.
Mrs. Renouard, a woman in her thirties with curly brown hair, greeted Ivy and led her through the house and into the kitchen.
Dr. Harold Tipton sat at the table, and he rose. “Good afternoon.”
Ivy held her breath. Why was Dr. Tipton there? “Good afternoon.”
Mrs. Renouard left and shut the kitchen door.
“Please have a seat.” Dr. Tipton gestured to a kitchen chair. “Mrs. Renouard prepared blackberry leaf tea for us. And no, a patient is not awaiting your care.”
He was indeed involved, and Ivy sank into the chair before her legs gave out.
Dr. Tipton sat and raised his teacup. “You’ve been working with our ring for six months, and we’ve decided to bring you in fully.”
Air hopped from Ivy’s mouth. It was indeed a ring.
“Also...” He took a sip, and his lip curled. “Abominable stuff.”
Ivy let herself smile. “You brought me here to complain about ersatz tea?”
He laughed, and light from the window glinted off his red hair. Then he sobered. “Given the recent developments in St. Saviour’s Parish, we wanted to give you the chance to bow out.”
Ivy wrapped her hands around the teacup, and her chest ached. On Friday, eighteen men had been sentenced in the wireless case, including the hospital steward, the hospital secretary—and Canon Clifford Cohu. A devastating blow to the island, with so many beloved and esteemed men given harsh sentences, ranging from two weeks to three years in prison.
Dr. Tipton arched an eyebrow. “If we are caught, the repercussions would be just as severe.”
What else could Ivy do? “My father taught me to never turn away someone who is suffering.”
“Excellent.” Warmth livened his gaze. “Several of us are involved in treating and transporting the escaped workers. We also provide clothing, ration books, and identity papers so they can pass as local farmworkers.”
“I see.” Ivy sipped the tea, not abominable to her taste. “It’s better for the men to perform meaningful work than to stay inside all day.”
“Indeed. Boredom drives the men to reckless behavior and must be avoided.” Dr. Tipton adjusted his suit jacket, too large on his frame. He’d been rather portly before the occupation. “You and Miss de Ferrers have a clever method of communicating. We need to add a code.”
“All right.” She primed her memory, since she could write nothing down.
“If an escapee must be moved urgently—for any reason at all—you must ring Miss de Ferrers straightaway with a prescription for the helper. Prescribe a dosage ten times higher than normal. When she corrects you, insist upon it.”
“I see. Then she’ll know it’s a code.”
“Yes.” Dr. Tipton stood and offered his hand. “We will not speak of this again.”
She stood and shook his hand. “Thank you for trusting me to help.”
“You’ve proven discreet and capable. And as unfortunate as your sister’s and your brother’s associations must be for you, the situation is quite fortunate for us.”
A darkness flooded Ivy’s heart again. “A decoy.”
Dr. Tipton inclined his head in affirmation. “You may leave first, and I’ll depart later.”
“Thank you.” Outside, Ivy rode her bicycle through Gorey under a soft gray sky. For almost three years of the German occupation, the physicians had overlooked and ignored her—although with great politeness. Now she’d earned the respect of Dr. Tipton and others in the ring.
When she reached the Gorey Coast Road, the scenic medieval castle of Mont Orgueil rose to her left on the headlands, keeping watch over a colorful row of shops and a collection of fishing boats.
Ivy headed south, breathing in the scent of spring, of wildflowers and fresh young leaves.
But as she approached Grouville, she smelled dust and oil and filthy men. Here the new Todt railway slashed through greenery and flowers, trampled them, tossed them aside, the bare brown earth scratched with dull steel tracks.
