“I’m glad,” I told him, smiling, grateful for the lovely evening and the peace of England. Not everyone was as fortunate as I had been. Leaning my head back against the pillows, I watched the moon ride through a cloudless night sky before drifting into a dreamless sleep.
I awoke in my own bed the next morning and felt better than I had for weeks. But the influenza epidemic was still raging, and I knew how desperately I was needed in France. I concentrated on getting well and recovering my strength, which seemed to have flown out the window. We began to walk, my parents or Simon taking it by turns to accompany me. At first it was only a few dozen feet across Reception before I succumbed to a weakness so profound I had to lean on someone’s arm to make what seemed to be an interminable return journey to my room. Determined to heal, three times a day I sallied forth, and soon I could stroll to the music stand and then nearly as far as the pier. Before very long, I could even walk out to the pier’s end and then back to the Grand Hotel, without weakness or shortness of breath. The next day Simon dismissed the carriage that was paid to follow us wherever we went, in the event I tired.
When first I had brought up returning to the war, the Colonel Sahib vigorously opposed it, and I saw the fright in my mother’s eyes at the very thought. And so I had said nothing more. They were right, it was too soon. Eager as I was to resume my duties and spell the overworked staff that so desperately needed experienced nursing sisters, I mustn’t become a burden for them instead. Holding on to my patience, I had concentrated on recovering and regaining my strength.
A few days after Simon dismissed the carriage, my mother and I walked to the west of the hotel for a closer look at the Seven Sisters, the great white chalk cliffs that ranged beyond Beachy Head Light, the wind whipping at our skirts as my mother and I stood looking at the line of headlands. The lighthouse itself was invisible, down along the waterline and tucked out of sight. Sometimes great chunks of the cliff faces fell into the sea, but today, in hazy sunlight, they shone so white it hurt the eyes to stare at them.
I said, “I shall have to go back, you know.”
Without looking at me, my mother said, “Bess. When you are stronger.”
“Next week. Or the week after.”
“We’ll let the doctor decide, shall we?”
But Dr. Everett was a family friend and not to be trusted. If my mother asked him to keep me in England longer, he’d do it for her.
I tried another tack. “I’d be willing to spend a week in a clinic, to test my strength.”
“I can feel the wind shifting. Shall we turn back?” And as we did, she added, “I’ll speak to the Colonel Sahib, Bess, dear.”
I left it at that, hoping that the seed was planted, and, with luck, would grow. And I hoped as well that I could count on my father to back me up this time.
But I was wrong there. Nothing was said that evening, and early the next morning a summons came from Somerset. My parents bade me a guilty good-bye and set out for home, leaving me in Simon’s care for a few days
“A memorial service. I’d almost forgot, darling,” my mother said, bending to kiss my cheek. “I’ve been so worried for you, it slipped my mind, but thank heavens the Rector sent to remind us.”
“Whose service?” I asked, trying to keep a note of suspicion out of my voice at the sudden and all-too- convenient disappearance of both my parents.
My suspicion was wiped away by my mother’s answer.
“I thought Richard or Simon had told you. Perhaps they felt it was too soon after your own illness. It’s Vincent Carson, Bess. He’s dead. He was killed just after you left France. The original service had to be postponed because large gatherings were discouraged. The family feels it’s safe enough now to hold it. The Colonel Sahib is delivering the eulogy.”
I was about to tell her that Major Carson was dead well before I sailed for Dover, but just in time I remembered that I had only dreamed it. It hadn’t recurred-I was thankful for that-but it hadn’t faded the way dreams usually do. And that was worrying.
Simon and I wished them a safe journey and watched them out of sight. He’d only just come back from London, and my father had taken him off for a brief report before setting out. And then to my surprise, without a word he walked off down the Promenade toward the pier.
I thought perhaps he wished to be alone, that something had happened in London or wherever he’d been, because I had noticed a grim set to his mouth as he and my father had emerged from Simon’s room.
But when he returned to the hotel, he waved to me as I sat on my balcony. I went down to meet him, and we walked on to one of the benches set out on the lawn.
“My mother just told me that Major Carson had been killed.”
“He was a fine officer. I spoke to his widow just last week. She’s resigned, I think. If this war lasts much longer, there will be no one left to come home.”
“How did he die?” I fought to keep the anxiety from my voice. Surely not-
“According to Julia he was struck by shrapnel and died instantly. A kindness, she said.”
Everyone in England wished a kind death on their loved ones. No lingering, no crying out for mothers or wives, no pain-filled last moments. It wasn’t always that easy, whatever a sympathetic commanding officer wrote to the next of kin. I’d held too many men during their last moments.
I didn’t intend to carry it any further-this was not the best time to bring up the dream. Indeed I should have felt immense relief that it was no more than that. But the images in my mind, suddenly vivid and disturbing, wouldn’t go away. I needed to exorcise them once and for all.
Before I could stop myself, I said, “Simon, remember I told you once that I believed I’d seen Vincent Carson’s body amongst the Spanish Influenza victims? But it didn’t belong there?”
“Yes. It was a dream, you said. Does it still worry you?”
“In a way. I try to put it out of my mind, but sometimes I question whether it was real or fever. For one thing, why should I dream that he’d been murdered? And I felt that his murderer must still be nearby. That it was urgent to report his body. It’s that sense of urgency that makes it impossible to let go of the dream. Please, I don’t want it to be true. I just wish there was some way to settle this for good. Then I could tell myself to stop being silly. I’ve dealt with patients who were delirious, and their nightmares fade with time. Mine hasn’t. I need to know why.” I made a gesture of frustration, not certain how to explain the confusion I felt.
“Part of it is my fault. I should have told you when you first mentioned it that he was dead. That might have helped. But I thought it wasn’t the best time to give you such sad news.”
I smiled wryly. “There’s one solution. When I’m back in France, I’ll find Private Wilson and speak to him. He might be able to tell me why I thought I’d gone into that shed. There will be a simple explanation.”
I could already imagine Private Wilson saying in his gruff, kind way,
“Oh!” I said, my hand flying to my mouth in bewilderment. “Simon-it was just after one of my patients had died that I fell ill. And when the body was removed, Private Wilson wanted me to see what he’d discovered in the shed. That part must be true. He wasn’t certain what should be done about it. It still doesn’t explain why I should have thought it was Major Carson.”
“A dead man amongst dead men,” he said after a moment. “Have you thought, Bess, that if there was someone in the shed who didn’t belong there, Private Wilson has already dealt with the problem? While you were ill. And if he didn’t, without your confirmation, whoever it was has long since been buried, murdered or not. If there was no identification with the body, finding it now will be nearly impossible in an unmarked grave. Sadly, there isn’t much that could be done.”
“You’re right, of course,” I said, wishing I could keep the doubt out of my voice.
“Julia told me Carson had died instantly. Was that a kind lie? Was he brought in dying of his wounds? Do you remember seeing him in the ward?”
I shook my head. “He was never one of my patients. It’s just an uncomfortable coincidence that Major Carson died about this same time. As if I’d foreseen his death.”
He stared at me in the sunny warmth of the morning. “I wish you’d come to me sooner. Or I’d pursued this when you first mentioned your dream. I didn’t think-there has to be a way to resolve this for you.”
“I can’t do as I did at eight, I can’t open the closet door and see for myself that no monsters live inside.” I smiled, making light of my feelings.
