Müller glared at Vogt. “I do not think that will be necessary.”
“I do,” he argued.
“I would agree,” Audrey added, mustering her courage. With these men in the house, for better or worse, all the household expenses would fall to them. The window would be fixed, coal and groceries would be purchased. In the short term, her and Ilse’s immediate needs would be met. The arrangement would enable their survival until Audrey could find a way to get Ilse to England. She felt a strange surge of emotion; relief and panic and disgust all braided together into a noose that scratched at her throat.
“It makes perfect sense to me,” Vogt said.
“Then I accept.”
“Excuse me—” Müller began, but Vogt cut him off.
“Excellent.”
Audrey beamed, her lips dry. “It would be an honour to serve you both, and by extension, the Reich. Perhaps it could be a live-in position? This is a far nicer home than the place I’m currently in, you see.” She paused. “There’s such competition with Jews and immigrants to let a decent flat. And it would be more convenient to not have to travel to work.”
“I think that would be our preference,” Vogt said.
“Vogt,” Müller said sharply. “A word.”
The two men disappeared across the hall, Vogt trailing in Müller’s wake as they headed toward the lounge. Audrey took a long, shaky breath. Already her mind was turning to the details, the logistics. She would suggest Ilse’s room for herself. Fortunately, Ilse’s and the guest bedroom Audrey occupied were the smallest, and surely Vogt and Müller would take the largest rooms for themselves. And then it hit her: Ilse would have to live in the attic, hiding, for some indeterminate period of time. She would be a prisoner in her own home, yet, unless something went horribly wrong, her jailers wouldn’t even know she existed. Audrey’s stomach knotted with guilt, but she couldn’t see another way out of this. There was no way she could overpower their decision to confiscate the home, and arguing with them on it would only draw suspicion—or worse.
The men returned a moment later, and Audrey stood up. Müller’s face was blotchy whilst Vogt strolled into the room smiling.
“Very well, Fräulein,” he said. “We will employ you. You will receive ten reichsmarks a week in addition to room and board.”
Audrey nodded. If room and board were covered, they could at least use that income for their eventual escape plans.
“Excellent,” Vogt said.
Müller stood with his hands on his hips, overcoat open to reveal the gleaming insignia on his jacket. Judging by the numerous decorations, he was high-ranking. “We will need you to conduct an inventory of the house, first thing,” he directed at her. “To determine the entire property’s value and compare that against what was catalogued when the Jews registered it. Anything of significant value had to be reported. All Jewish-owned businesses have also been seized, effective today,” he added.
Audrey refrained from any reaction.
Vogt handed her the papers he’d been consulting earlier. “Work into the evening, if you must, and have it ready by morning. We will collect our things from our hotels and move in tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
“Yes, sir.”
“Be here early in the morning for our arrival,” Müller said.
The men made their way to the front door.
“Thank you for the opportunity,” Audrey said. “I shall see you both tomorrow.”
“Indeed, Fräulein,” Vogt said. “Heil Hitler.”
“Heil Hitler,” Audrey parroted.
When they had driven away, she wrestled the door shut, then leaned back against it and let her breath out, closing her eyes. Her pulse was still racing, and she only now noticed the prickling sensation on her back, perspiration from the stress. She took a moment to collect herself as best she could, dreading what she knew she must do next.
Upstairs, she opened the door into Ilse’s room.
Staring up at the attic access, an overwhelming sense of shame at the blow she was about to deliver to Ilse settled on her like a cloak. She wanted to suspend this moment, to go on with their evening, watch Ilse read a book as she played the piano, hide out just a little longer from reality. But they couldn’t. What was happening beyond these walls had found its way in, and it was infusing everything, like poisonous gas.
“Come on down, Ilse,” she called. “Or let me up. It’s safe.”
No, it isn’t.
The door opened and Ilse’s head appeared in the void, eyes wide and bright.
“Audrey! Baruch hashem,” she hissed. She lowered the ladder and scrambled down. “What happened? Who were those men?”
Her shoulders slumped inward, and she was clutching her hands together in front of a wrinkled skirt. It made Audrey want to weep.
“Their names are Müller and Vogt,” she replied. “SS officers. High-ranking, I think.”
Ilse gasped. “What did they want? Was it about Mama? Ephraim?”
“No.” There was no point in holding back. “Ilse, they’ve confiscated the house.”
Ilse’s hands stilled. “What?”
As Audrey explained that the credit cooperative was gone—along with their money—and that the officers had confirmed the attacks and riots were part of a process to transform Germany into an entirely Aryan state, that there was no place for Jews here anymore, Ilse sank onto the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. Audrey hated herself for having to relay everything to her, and she hated the Nazis for stripping Ilse of the only remaining freedoms she had.
“But how—” Ilse choked on a sob. “What are we going to do? Where will I go?”
“You will stay here. I’ll keep you safe until we can flee. We’ll wait for my father’s response to my letter.”
