could, in hideous irony, really be Sam. Sam was the only one who would have seen the black laughter in that! God! How he was going to miss him!
He found it hard to make his way between the stretchers and the bodies lying on canvas, or duckboards. His legs were shaking. It was almost daylight now. The sky above was streaked with light drifting banners of cloud.
The bodies were all badly injured, but one was so torn apart, both legs gone, one arm shattered and the head half blown away, that all one could be sure of was that he had been at least average height, and had had dark hair. It could have been Sam.
Trembling, sick with fear, Joseph picked up the dog tag and read Sam’s name and number on it. Now his whole body was shuddering. He reached for the one good hand, the left hand. Would he recognize it? He stared at it, trying to be certain. Then he saw the pale indentation on the third finger where there had been a ring, a plain circle, a wedding ring. Sam had never worn a ring. Relief swept over him, breaking out in sweat over his body; he was dizzy, the makeshift room swaying around him.
Someone grasped him from behind, holding him up, steadying him.
“You all right, Chaplain? Pretty bad, eh. Poor devil.”
Joseph wanted to say something, but his voice would not come. He gulped for breath, fighting the sudden nausea.
Someone passed him a cup of tea, hot and laced with rum. It was vile, made in a Dixie can that had held a Maconochie tinned stew as well. As he drank the tea, his balance returned.
“Thank you. I’ll . . . I’ll have some letters to write. Lots of letters.”
He conducted all the funerals, just brief words over white crosses in the Flanders clay, a few quiet men standing to attention, the sound of guns in the distance, the banners of sky like lead above them, as if their shoulders held it.
Sam’s was the last. Joseph stood there alone after the others had gone. He did not realize anyone else had stayed until he heard Barshey Gee’s voice.
“Oi’m real sorry, Captain Reavley. The major was a good man.”
“Yes.” Joseph found it hard to speak. “He was my friend.”
“Did you ever foind out who killed that newspaper wroiter?”
“Yes. It’s taken care of.”
“Knew you’d see to it,” Barshey said quietly. “Debt settled then.”
Joseph turned to look at him. There were tears on Barshey’s face, but he was smiling. He stood smartly to attention, and saluted the cross that bore the words
MAJOR SAMUEL WETHERALL,
KILLED IN ACTION, MAY 25, 1915.
FEATURING WILLIAM MONK
The Face of a Stranger
A Dangerous Mourning
Defend and Betray
A Sudden, Fearful Death
The Sins of the Wolf
Cain His Brother
Weighed in the Balance
The Silent Cry
A Breach of Promise
The Twisted Root
Slaves of Obsession
Funeral in Blue
Death of a Stranger
FEATURING CHARLOTTE AND THOMAS PITT
The Cater Street Hangman
Callander Square
Paragon Walk
Resurrection Row
Bluegate Fields
Rutland Place
Death in the Devil’s Acre
Cardington Crescent
Silence in Hanover Close
Bethlehem Road
Highgate Rise
Belgrave Square
Farriers’ Lane
The Hyde Park Headsman
Traitors Gate
Pentecost Alley
Ashworth Hall
Brunswick Gardens
Bedford Square
Half Moon Street
The Whitechapel Conspiracy
Southampton Row
Seven Dials
THE WORLD WAR I NOVELS
No Graves As Yet
Shoulder the Sky
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Ballantine Book
Published by The Random House Publishing Group
Copyright © 2004 by Anne Perry
