Clara with a note to the Kommandantur, but we could learn nothing. Except . . .”
“Yes, go on.”
The Major cleared his throat. “Mademoiselle Lassone’s arrest was arranged by Hauptmann von Eckhart. You witnessed, as did I, a rejection of his advances. Von Eckhart does not take well to rejection. We don’t know what charges he’s made. As far as I know, refusing the attentions of an officer isn’t illegal. Yet.”
That the Major thought the notion just as ludicrous wasn’t lost on Edward, though he had no time or inclination to absorb what that meant. The Major was in obvious sympathy, and that was enough for the moment.
“Where was she taken?” Edward asked.
“The Kommandantur at the Town Hall.”
Edward paced away. “All right.” He turned to the Major, knowing he must be bold. “If I find the means, can she be freed by bribery?”
The Major’s light brows gathered skeptically. “In another prison, perhaps. But the Kommandantur . . .” He shook his head. “No, that would mean embarrassment and the harshest punishment for the guards. It’s the heart of our operations here.”
“Can I get in to see her, at least? As her priest?”
He looked no more hopeful. “They watch these cases most closely. Only German chaplains or German priests are allowed.”
“A message, then? Can we get a message to her?”
Now his brows rose. “Yes, I think I can manage that.”
“And a dress,” Genny said as she went to a drawer in the table in the parlor. “They took her in her nightclothes!” From the drawer she withdrew a sheet of paper and a pencil and handed it to Edward, then hastened up the stairs.
Edward barely hesitated as a flood of verses from the Bible came to mind, indelible from years of study and training. On the paper he wrote one he knew she would welcome, especially if it came from him:
The Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty; he will save, he will rejoice over thee with joy; he will rest in his love, he will joy over thee with singing.
Signing Father Antoine, Edward folded the paper and handed it to the Major.
“Blast this war,” the Major said as he turned away. “Not even a telephone to send someone over.”
But a moment later the same ringer that had brought Edward the last hopeful sound he’d heard now rang again. Genny was just coming back down the stairs, clothing folded over her arm. She hurried to reach the door, and there stood a German sentry.
“For Major von Bürkel.” He handed her an envelope.
From behind her the Major spoke. “Just a moment, sentry.” He tucked another note in with Edward’s, sealing it in an envelope. He accepted the clothes Genny held out and folded everything together. “This is to be given to Herr Lutz only. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Major.”
Genny closed the door, and both she and Edward watched as the Major tore open the envelope the young man had just delivered. He scanned the page. It was full-size, but Edward could see the contents were bleakly short.
“She has been charged with aiding and abetting an Allied soldier,” he said. “Her trial is set for December.”
Genny gasped. “Two months!”
Edward scratched his head, relieved the arrest wasn’t somehow linked to the press but at the same time confused. “Aiding an Allied soldier?”
“Oh, my!” It was Clara’s voice, and all three turned to her at the same time. She looked stricken, nearly hidden in the shadows of the hallway nearby. “I knew that day would haunt us.”
Edward approached her. “What day?”
“Oh . . .”
She sobbed again, and Edward’s impatience multiplied. “Speak, Clara!”
She wiped the back of her hand against her nose. “There was a young man here not so long ago. I knew we should not answer the door. I warned her. Oui, oui, I did! I’ve heard of spies, so bold to come right up to the door and pretend to be a soldier looking for a way over the frontier. Surely he was a spy!”
Genny put an arm around Clara’s shoulders, but she looked closer to joining her tears than able to offer much comfort.
“What did Fräulein Lassone do for this young man who came to the door?” the Major asked.
“I do not know! I left the room in search of Henri, to have the man put from the grounds. But I do know she gave him bread. I saw what remained on the table after he was gone.”