An Unmarked Grave (14 page)

I had to bite my tongue at the reprimand. I was getting what I wanted, actually, an opportunity to sail to England straightaway. Once there I could deal with these charges easily enough. And I could reach my father by telephone when I had landed, and set Captain Barclay free even sooner than I’d expected.

And then I had a brilliant notion.

I said, in as petulant a tone as I could muster, “It’s not fair that I have to be sent home. What about the orderly who got me into this trouble? The port authority is holding him, but is he being sent home in disgrace? I think not! You are a woman, Nurse Bailey. Do you think it right that he escapes scot-free? He’s in the Army Medical Services just as I am. Because he’s a man, should his dereliction of duty be seen in a lesser light than mine?”

I watched her eyes. They narrowed as I was finishing.

“I have no authority over the port officials.”

“The Major there would most likely honor any request coming from the American Base Hospital.”

She was tempted.

“At the very least, you could try,” I pleaded. “He’s quite handsome, Barclay is. I tried to withstand his advances, that’s why I went to the convent, but he followed me from the Hotel de Lille. Thank God he was stopped and asked for his papers! I don’t know what he would have done.”

She considered me for a moment, eyes narrowing again. Finally she rose from behind the desk, asked the direction of the convent, ordered me not to leave the room, and for good measure locked the door behind her as she went out.

I sat there fuming for over an hour. Had she believed any part of my story, or had I only succeeded in ruining my own reputation for no purpose? Time was passing, and I was locked in here.

Halfway through the long wait, I felt a spurt of horror. What if she’d gone in search of my driver instead? If he came here, promised to deliver me to Ypres as ordered, would she feel that I had learned my lesson and remand me into his care?

Surely not. He had gone long before this.

When I finally heard the key turn in the lock, I tried to make myself look frightened and contrite.

Nurse Bailey came in accompanied by a man dressed in the uniform of an orderly, but he was older, and I guessed—correctly as it turned out—that he was in charge.

I was told that he would escort me to the ship waiting on the river even now, and that he would deliver the letter Nurse Bailey had written to the First Officer, as she had intended from the start.

I didn’t protest when he took my arm and led me out of the small room, through the passages, and out the gate of the hospital.

We walked together to the port. I was escorted up the gangway and handed over to a young officer who looked at me as if I were carrying the plague. Disgust was writ large in his face, and whatever he’d been told, he’d believed every word of it. I was conducted to the quarters of one of the officers and once more locked inside.

After a while I heard the sounds of the ship weighing anchor, then moving with the tide as it prepared to follow the river to the sea.

I’d failed to get Captain Barclay freed, but I’d be in Portsmouth in a matter of hours.

My worry now was, could I reach my father once I got there? Or was he off on one of his mysterious forays and out of touch for days on end? What could Mother do in his stead? Was Simon even well enough to attend to this?

C
HAPTER
T
EN

I
T SEEMED TO
take longer than usual to reach the mouth of the river. More often than not, unless I was assigned to duty with the wounded belowdecks, I stood at the rail, watching our passage downstream. Instead, here in this stuffy little cabin, I tried to picture it in my mind as a distraction.

Finally I could feel the swells as we left the river behind and met the Channel. That much closer to England. Somewhere in the narrow ship’s passage outside my door I heard someone begin to retch, and then the sound of feet rushing toward the companionway.

I was a good sailor, and I stood at the porthole, the lamp behind me turned off, and looked out at gray water meeting a gray sky. There was always a chance that we would encounter a German sub, and if the weather was good, the chances were doubled. But from my vantage point, there could have been half a hundred out there, and I’d have no way of guessing.

With a sigh, I closed the black curtains and sat down, not in the mood to relight the lamp. I was tired enough to sleep, but tempting as the bunk was, I wanted to stay alert if I could.

I’d just stifled a yawn when I heard the click of the key in the lock, and my door opened a very little.

I reached for the lamp, lit it, and stood there, waiting in its pool of light.

A familiar face peered around the edge. I recognized an officer I had sailed with before on a number of occasions.

“You aren’t about to throw the inkwell at me, are you?” Captain Garrison asked with a grin.

“I promise,” I said, and he stepped into the tiny cabin.

“I was just informed you were on board. Locked away like a common miscreant. What happened, Sister Crawford?”

“It’s a long story,” I told him wryly, “but I’ve transgressed, I’m told, and I’m being shipped home in disgrace to face my hour of judgment.”

He laughed outright. “Good God, Bess, did you take a shot at the First Lord of the Admiralty?”

“Nothing so grand. I was accused of fraternizing with an orderly and in consequence missing my transport to Ypres.” My hand went of its own accord to my pocket. What if I’d been searched and Simon’s little handgun had been discovered?

“I don’t believe it! Hang on—is that the other felon we have in irons belowdecks?”

“Unless he’s an American, I wouldn’t know.”

“Yes, he must be. He told one of my men that his ancestors had shown us a thing or two at Yorktown, and he was ready to have another go at it himself.”

It was my turn to laugh. But what was I to tell Captain Garrison? I decided on the truth. Well, part of it.

“We were both assigned to Ypres. But something went wrong with our transport, and I spent the night in a convent I knew of in Rouen. On his way back to the hotel where he was staying, Barclay was picked up for not having the proper papers. I tried to explain the situation to the harbor police with no luck, and when I went to the Base Hospital in the hope of finding pen and paper to write to my father, a nurse there decided I looked disreputable enough to have been up to something nefarious, and she sent me back to England. I begged her to let my betrayer be punished as well, and I expect that’s why he’s in irons below.”

“You were deucedly lucky this was my ship. There are letters in my safe that must be meant for the Inquisition. I was told under pain of death not to open them but to hand them over along with you when I reached Portsmouth.”

“Yes, well, I do understand in part. There’s always the fear of spies in a place like Rouen. You’ve got people coming and going in every direction, speaking I don’t know how many languages, and there are warnings everywhere to report any suspicious activity. I doubt Nurse Bailey has been in France very long. She put the worst possible interpretation on the situation. I’d have done the same in her shoes.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” he said. “You’d have got to the bottom of it. Wait here, I ought to let your American out of the brig before he thinks of a way to scuttle the ship. I’ve enough on my hands with the Germans.”

With that he was gone, and it was some time before he reappeared. “I’ve offered Barclay my cabin to clean himself up a bit. He was all right once he knew you were safe. I need to go to the bridge and keep an eye on things.” He reached into his pocket and took out two letters. “I’ll leave these with you.” He hesitated. “Barclay strikes me more as an officer than an orderly.”

“He is. He was so eager to get back to France he was willing to take any position available. I think his doctor back in Somerset was trying to teach him a lesson, that his wounds haven’t healed sufficiently to return to his regiment. A little humble pie, as it were.”

Nodding, he went on his way. I folded my arms on the makeshift desk, put my head down on my arms, and went to sleep.

I’d consider what to do once we approached Portsmouth Roads.

I must have slept soundly. It was the rumble of the anchor cable feeding out that brought me awake, startled and confused. I tried to make myself presentable and settled my cap on my hair. My valise was by the cabin door. But I stayed where I was. It was one thing to be treated as a guest by Captain Garrison and quite another to appear on deck prematurely and place him in an awkward situation.

I could hear the wounded being carried off the ship, and then the tramp of many feet as the next contingent of troops came aboard.

Finally there was a tap at my door and Captain Garrison was there. “All clear,” he told me. “I think it’s safe enough to go ashore. There was no welcoming committee out there, and my officers won’t talk. I’ve procured passes out of the port for you as well. I’m afraid after that, my authority stops.”

“You’ve been more than kind,” I told him warmly. “I don’t know how to thank you for all you’ve done.”

He brushed that aside. “I’ll look forward to seeing you on another voyage, this time not under duress.”

We walked together to the deck, where I saw Barclay, looking far more himself now, waiting for me. Without a word we disembarked and made our way along the docks to the gates. The Captain was several steps behind me, as was proper, but once we were in the town itself, he caught me up.

“Do you know everyone in Christendom, Bess Crawford?” he asked, a repressed note of disapproval in his voice.

“You forget,” I said. “Since
Britannic,
I must have made the journey to France and back half a hundred times. It would be strange if I didn’t know most of the ships’ officers. Which makes it all the worse when they go missing. The First Officer is new, replacing a man who lost his leg during the winter. And the Third Officer is new as well. His ship was sunk on convoy duty and he’s learning the run to France—”

I broke off, watching a motorcar coming toward us. I stopped stock-still as I recognized it.

“What is it?” Captain Barclay asked, tensing.

But by that time it was near enough for him to recognize the driver. My father.

As he greeted us I asked, “How did you know I was coming in?”

“I was having dinner with the Port Captain when you arrived. Captain Garrison sent a signal. He didn’t specify my daughter was on board, but he did say wounded and nurses. Not sisters. And a signal never includes hospital staff—it’s assumed they’re aboard with the wounded. I thought I ought to have a look. But we hadn’t finished our Port, and Mackenzie insisted that I stay until it had been round once.”

Then he turned to greet Captain Barclay, making no remark about the torn uniform or the scrapes and cuts on his face, not to mention his knuckles.

“Thank you for bringing her home safely,” he said.

Captain Barclay grimaced. “Not without difficulty.”

The Colonel Sahib ushered us into the motorcar, and we said very little as we drove through the narrow, twisting streets toward the main road north through Hampshire. Clear of the city, we picked up the first showers of rain. My father settled to a steady speed and then nodded to me to begin my account of events, interrupted from time to time by the Captain. As I spoke, he listened with a grim expression clearly visible even in the cloudy darkness.

“Good God!” he said when I had given him all the details. “I’ll see what I can do to set this business to rights. I think it might be best if Barclay the orderly simply disappeared, and Captain Barclay returned to the clinic for further treatment of his troublesome wound after his brief furlough to London.”

Captain Barclay opened his mouth to argue, thought better of it, and said only, “Thank you, sir.”

“I’m afraid my reputation can’t be repaired quite so easily,” I said ruefully.

“Perhaps Nurse Bailey can be thanked for helping you smuggle one of our spies safely out of France and back into England.”

“I think,” I said, considering the suggestion, “she might be happier if I had helped capture a notorious German spy.”

“God help us if that got back to the wrong ears. No, we’ll offer our sincerest gratitude to both of you for unspecified services to the Crown.”

I wanted to ask the Colonel Sahib if he thought I was safe now. But I was reluctant to broach the subject so soon. And how was I to get back to France until this whole business was settled? It was a dilemma.

As the rain turned into a downpour shortly after we’d crossed into Somerset, we stopped briefly for a late supper until it blew over.

My father had said nothing about Simon, and I had been afraid to ask, for fear he was not healing as he should. It was one of the drawbacks to being a nurse. I knew too much about wounds and a man’s chances of survival. Finally I took my courage in my hands and said, “Is Simon all right?”

“A deucedly poor patient. Your mother has had her hands full.” And that was all he would say.

The conversation turned to Major Carson, and I asked my father if he’d ever met William Morton.

“Actually I haven’t. He and Sabrina eloped, and after that her father never spoke to her again. I thought that rather harsh. It left her with nowhere to turn in the event she was ever unhappy. And so, as far as I know, she has stayed with her actor.”

“A pity.” I took a deep breath. “Julia told me that in one of his last letters, her husband was angry with someone in his company but didn’t mention a name because of the censors. But soon afterward the offending soldier was sent to another sector. Do you think that soldier could have been William Morton? It’s a pity we don’t have the journal the Major kept. It might give us some answers.”

Captain Barclay interrupted. “Who is William Morton?”

My father said, “He married the Major’s younger sister. The family didn’t approve of him. It would be interesting to see what sort of war he’s had.”

“He could have lured the Major to that false rendezvous. But why wait all these years?” I asked.

“A good point. Still, there’s no accounting for a long-harbored anger. It can spill over unexpectedly,” my father said.

“Which reminds me, Julia told me when I visited her that Sabrina didn’t come to the memorial service. That she was poor again. Her words.”

“She can’t live as she’s used to on a private soldier’s pay,” my father agreed. “There could have been an argument over settling an allowance on her.”

“But how would the Major have felt about that? I know he was closer to his other sister, but surely he didn’t carry on his father’s feeling that she made her choice and must live with it.”

“He never discussed it with me,” my father said as the chargers of food were set before us. Shortages or not, it smelled heavenly, and we set to with an appetite. “And of course by rights he shouldn’t have. It was a family matter.”

“Julia might know,” I said doubtfully, finishing the ham and turning to the last of the roasted potatoes on my plate. “But the same difficulty applies. Could you speak to the Major’s solicitors?”

“I’d rather not make it quite so official. There’s the other sister. Valerie. You could call on her. She might be able to shed some light on Sabrina’s situation and her brother’s handling of it. She lives in Gloucestershire. Not all that far away.”

“I don’t know her as well as I do Julia,” I reminded him. “I shall need a better reason than to offer my condolences at this late date.”

“Your mother will think of something.”

Captain Barclay said casually, “I shall be glad to accompany Sister Crawford, sir. If you like.”

“I can drive myself. If you remember,” I told him.

We finished our tea and then set out once more. The rain had stopped, and after a while the moon followed us up the drive to the house.

Two mornings later—still encumbered with Captain Barclay but armed with an excuse provided by my mother—we set out for Gloucestershire. Valerie and her husband lived on the outskirts of Gloucester, within sight of the castle.

She had married a man in banking who now served with the Navy.

She received me cordially, and I gave her a set of embroidered baby clothes, with a cap and a matching pram coverlet done up in lilac and palest green, for she was expecting a child in three months’ time. Julia hadn’t mentioned it, and when I said as much, Valerie said, “I expect she was wishing she also had a child on the way. But how kind of your mother to remember! I shall write to her at once, but you must tell her I shall treasure this gift.”

“I shall. Does Sabrina have any children? I don’t remember.”

“A little boy. The most adorable child. I went to see her in Oxfordshire this winter as soon as I heard the news. Our old Nanny wrote to me.”

“Did you tell Julia or the Major?”

“I wrote to Vincent. I don’t know if he ever received the letter. He didn’t answer. But they do get lost, don’t they? Letters to the Front?”

“Yes. Sadly,” I answered.

“I can’t believe he’s dead. It’s just not possible. And it makes me anxious for George now. He’s at sea, you know. We don’t hear, his mother and I, for weeks on end.”

“When they’re at sea, there’s nowhere to post a letter,” I said, and she smiled.

“I never thought of it that way.”

“Sabrina eloped, didn’t she?”

“Yes, our father had forbade her to see William again. I wished at the time that I’d had the courage to attend the ceremony, but I was rather afraid of what my father might do or say.”