Chapter 30
chapter
St. Helier
“Antipyrine!” Joan de Ferrers jabbed a finger at her book.
“For fever and headache?” Ivy leaned her elbows on the dining room table in Joan’s home above the chemist’s shop—formerly the Carter home. “That’s an old drug. Do you have it in stock?”
“It’s rarely used, quite toxic. We much prefer aspirin and phenacetin, but if shortages don’t improve, we’ll use it again.” Then Joan sent Ivy a smile. “Yes, I have it.”
“It works?”
“According to this.” Joan lifted Mr. Carter’s book on the role of chemistry in the Great War.
Two weeks ago, Gerrit had run out of secret ink. One week ago, Ivy had worked up the courage to ask Joan for help. Aiding the escapee ring could earn Joan a ticket to prison or a concentration camp, but aiding in espionage would lead to certain death.
Yet Joan had pounced on the opportunity and never asked why on earth Ivy was interested in secret inks.
Out of boredom, Joan had been consuming even the dryest of Mr. Carter’s books and had recently read the tome in her hands, which concerned the wartime use of medications and poison gas, but also included a chapter on secret inks.
“It’s an older book.” Joan shifted her mouth to one side. “That means the information isn’t secret.”
“But if the ink is invisible, the writing might pass unnoticed.” It would protect Charlie and Gerrit.
“Let’s give it a try, shall we?” Joan sprang up from the table and gestured to the sink. “Never mind the dinner dishes. I can’t wash them until the water turns on again tomorrow morning anyway.”
Carrying her medical bag and coat, Ivy followed Joan downstairs to the shop. A dry summer and autumn had led to a serious water shortage on the island, and water from the mains was turned off each day from seven in the evening to seven in the morning.
Joan turned on lamps in the laboratory area in the back of the shop and gathered bottles from shelves.
Ivy set her bag on the counter. “How can I help?”
“Stay out of my way.” But Joan grinned at her.
Ivy laughed and leaned against the counter. Over dinner, she and Joan had told stories from university, finding commonalities, edging toward true friendship. When they met in public, Joan treated her with cool cordiality, as was appropriate given their involvement with the ring.
Joan set weights on one pan of her scale and spooned clear crystals onto a square of paper on the other pan.
Over dinner, Ivy had learned the ring involved dozens of homes around the island and was loosely run by Dr. Noel McKinstry, Jersey’s Medical Officer of Health.
Joan poured the crystals from the pan of the scale into a conical glass flask. “Did you hear about the arrests at West’s Cinema?”
“I did.” Several employees had been arrested in yet another wireless case, and today the cinema owner had been arrested too. “At this rate, Jersey will have more people in prison than out.”
Joan poured water from a jug into a graduated cylinder, then poured the water into the conical flask. “Let’s try not to join them.”
“I agree. Yet here we are.” Ivy waved toward the laboratory bench.
“Here we are indeed. Perhaps this is why everyone tells us not to worry our pretty little heads about chemistry. Apparently, it’s a good way to get those heads chopped off, pretty or not.” Joan swirled the flask. “Excellent. The antipyrine dissolves easily. Do you want to test it?”
“Yes.” Ivy reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a scrap of silk from Gerrit.
Joan handed her a glass stirrer, and Ivy dipped it in the clear solution and wrote her name on the silk. Nothing showed except dampness, and she waved the silk to dry the ink.
“How do you read it?” Ivy asked. “Heat?”
“Inks developed by heat are the most dangerous sort for a spy to use.” Joan slid another book from the shelf. “The earliest secret inks, like lemon juice, were developed by heat, which means heat is the first method tested.”
“I see.” Ivy held the scrap of silk to a lamp and saw no trace of writing. Unless the Germans suspected the presence of an invisible message, they wouldn’t think to search for a developer.
“Ferric chloride is used to develop antipyrine.” Joan flipped pages in the book. “Oh good. Ferric chloride doesn’t require heat to dissolve.”
Very good news, since the gas was already turned off for the day.
Joan weighed brownish-black crystals on the scale.
Gerrit didn’t let Ivy watch him draw his maps. The less she knew, the better, and she already knew too much. But without her involvement, how would he have procured more secret ink?
A smile rose as she leaned against the counter. She liked knowing she could contribute to resistance work whilst protecting Gerrit and Charlie. Of course, without more ink, their work would cease—which would protect them completely.
Joan poured the ferric chloride crystals into a new conical flask and added a measured aliquot of water. The water turned reddish-brown. “I’ve received fewer prescriptions from you lately.”
Ivy raised a rueful smile. “I’m seeing fewer patients.”
“Because of your sister.”
“Yes.” Gossips like Ethel and Kitty du Puy and Doris Mollet didn’t help.
“Ironically, if everyone knew how you help the escapees, you’d be seen as a heroine. They’d flock to your doors.”
Ivy chuckled, but she’d rather save the escapees than her practice. “How is your business?”
“Quiet but stable.” Joan swirled the flask, and the color of the solution complemented her auburn hair. “Fewer goods and medications to sell, but my work is more interesting. I enjoy compounding from scratch and extracting medications from plants.”
“You’ve made some ingenious discoveries.”
“Not my ingenuity. Those who came before me.”
Ivy shuffled her thoughts around Joan’s humility. “But you did the detective work to find that ingenuity.”
“I’m simply stubborn. Shall we see if this works?” Joan held up the flask of ferric chloride. “How shall we apply it?”
“I brought an old paintbrush.” Ivy pulled it from her skirt pocket.
Joan laid the silk scrap on a marble slab. “Do be careful. Ferric chloride is corrosive. Don’t get it on your skin.”
“Thank you.” With the brush, Ivy painted the brown solution on the silk. Soon, letters took shape in brilliant red—her own name. “Look at that. It works.”
“It does. How exciting. Would you like the ink packaged in a bottle?”
“Crystals would be better.” That’s what Gerrit had requested.
“I’ll make powder papers.” On a notepad, Joan scribbled calculations. “It’s 0.75 percent, but you’ll want household measures. A quarter cup . . . sixty milliliters . . . 0.45 grams. How many doses would you like?”
“How about a dozen?”
Joan set a square of paper on the scale. “Write a prescription, and I’ll type labels for the box with the mixing instructions as if it were a headache remedy.”
“Brilliant.” Ivy pulled her prescription pad from her bag, confirmed the dosage with Joan, and wrote the instructions. If Gerrit fell under suspicion, he could toss the cardboard box and powder papers in the fire to destroy the evidence.
Joan removed the paper and crystals from the scale and folded the paper into a tiny pouch. “Powder papers take time. Do you want to pick it up tomorrow? I don’t know if I’ll finish before ten o’clock curfew.”
“I have a curfew pass. We’re fine until the electricity turns off at eleven.” Ivy tore the prescription from the pad and handed it to Joan.
Her jaw dropped. “For Opal Jouny? Your aunt?”
Ivy couldn’t write a prescription for Gerrit. The Germans had their own doctors, and civilian physicians weren’t allowed to treat German troops or men in Organisation Todt. “Don’t worry. Aunt Opal isn’t a spy.” But she housed one spy and hosted another.
With her lips tucked in, Joan set down the prescription and measured another dose of antipyrine. “Your aunt is in the lifeline, sheltering a fugitive.” A question lifted her voice.
“Yes.” Now Joan knew this was no ordinary fugitive.
Joan’s deep-set hazel eyes rounded in shock. Then a smile leapt up. “This is rather thrilling, isn’t it?”
Ivy laughed. “It is.”
“Ferric chloride, a 10 percent solution in water. Pass that on.”
“I will.” If she didn’t, the British wouldn’t know how to develop Gerrit’s maps.
Whilst Joan prepared the powder papers and typed a label for the box, Ivy washed the glassware and paintbrush, using the water in the jug. Rinsed the evidence down the drain.
At ten thirty, Joan affixed the label to the box. “Let me know when your aunt needs a refill.”
“I will. Thank you.” Ivy set the box in her medical bag, to deliver to the farm on tomorrow’s rounds. Gerrit would be pleased to return to his mapmaking.
After Ivy put on her winter coat, hat, and gloves, Joan walked her to the front door to lock up behind her.
“Dinner was lovely, Joan.” Ivy stepped out into the chilly night. “Thank you for everything.”
“It was a pleasure doing business with you.” A smile quirked on Joan’s lips, but then she frowned toward the west. “Someone isn’t heeding the blackout. That will be a hefty fine.”
A bright light shone yellow-orange past where Queen Street turned into King Street. The light pulsed.
Ivy’s breath caught. “I think it’s a fire.”
“Oh no.” Joan headed down the street.
“Joan, no!” Ivy grabbed her arm. “You don’t have a curfew pass. Or a coat. I’ll find out what’s happening and tell you.”
“Thank you.” Hugging herself against the cold, Joan returned to her shop.
Ivy jogged down Queen Street, down King Street. The light pulsed harder, and the crackle of flames fractured the night air.
What was burning?
Her breath came hard, puffed white before her.
On the far side of New Street, a small crowd formed around a fire engine. Glass shattered, and flames licked from a window.
The de Gruchy department store.
“Oh no.” Ivy came to a stop. For over a hundred years, the people of Jersey had shopped at de Gruchy’s for fine goods, strolled through the sparkling glass-roofed arcade, and dined in the lovely restaurant.
Although they now carried little for locals and the restaurant held stores for the Germans, de Gruchy’s had been part of Ivy’s life.
Why was the fire brigade standing there, hoses limp, not doing anything?
“No water.” The mutters rolled from the crowd.
Ivy gasped. The water had been turned off at the mains at seven o’clock.
Despite the heat radiating from the St. Helier landmark, Ivy shuddered. Yet another loss due to the war. When would it end?