Fordham to kill himself?'
'I don't know that we need a reason,' Freddy Truscott answered somberly. 'What keeps you going is your men. You don't let them down. Fordham lost most of his men in a charge ordered against a section of line that reconnaissance had indicated was poorly defended and certain to fold. But the Germans had put in a concealed machine-gun nest during the night, and they held their fire until Fordham and his men were within easy range. They were wiped out-he was one of only a handful of wounded who somehow made it back to their own lines. The rest were dead before they knew what they were up against. He blamed himself for trusting HQ. He felt he'd betrayed the dead, and refused all treatment when they got him back to the nearest aid station. One of the nursing sisters put a needle into his arm and that was that. He was more sensible when he came out of surgery.'
I recalled the incident-although I hadn't known it was Captain Fordham who'd fought the nursing staff. Diana had been there, had witnessed the struggle to treat the wounded man, and she had told us about it. Even she hadn't learned why the officer had gone mad, only that in spite of his severe injuries he'd fought like a tiger.
But this went far to explain Fordham's suicide. Still, if he'd been intent on taking his own life, why wait until he was nearly mended?
Trying for a lighter note on which to end the evening, I asked Freddy if I could write to him in France.
He said, 'I was trying to get up the courage to ask just that.'
And then it was time to say good-bye. As we stood outside the door of Mrs. Hennessey's house, I wished him safe in France and he held my hand longer than was needful. 'Thank you, Bess, for a happy evening. I've enjoyed it more than I can say.'
With that he was gone, walking to the borrowed motorcar with swift strides, not looking back even as he drove away. I watched him go, watched his taillights vanish around the far corner of our street, and with a sigh, said a silent prayer that he would come home whole. Then I turned and went inside. Where had Simon got to?
I hadn't learned a great deal about Raymond Melton, and only a little about Lieutenant Fordham.
But as I climbed the stairs to my flat, calling good night to Mrs. Hennessey who had come out to ask me if I'd enjoyed my evening, I wondered why Jack Melton and his brother were estranged. Because he knew what sort of person Raymond Melton was?
What had been the fascination there for Marjorie? Attention when she needed comforting, her fears for Meriwether smoothed away? Sometimes very cold men could be utterly charming when it served their purpose. I preferred someone like Michael Hart, who made no bones about flirting, enjoying it and expecting no harm to come of it.
Like the woman at the garden party, I remembered as I drifted into sleep. Henry's wife, who had been amused by Michael's flattery, gave it back in full measure, and made both of them laugh.
Someone was knocking at the flat door. I heard it in my dreams before I realized that the sound was real. Surfacing from sleep, I tried to think what time it was, and if I'd overslept. I fumbled for my slippers and my dressing gown and made my way through the dark flat. But the windows told me it wasn't the middle of the night, as I'd first thought, or late morning. Dawn had broken and the first rays of the sun were touching the rooftops opposite.
I opened the door to Mrs. Hennessey, her gray hair in a long plait that fell down over the collar of her dressing gown.
'What is it? What's the matter?' I asked, thinking she must be ill.
'My dear, it's Sergeant-Major Brandon. He says it's most urgent that he speak to you. I do hope it isn't your parents-'
My mind was racing ahead of me as I brushed past her and went headlong down the stairs, nearly flinging myself into Simon's arms as I tripped on the last three steps.
'What is it?' I said again, tensed for the blow to come.
'I told Mrs. Hennessey not to frighten you,' he said, angry. 'It's a police matter, but important enough to make sure you were safely here.'
Mrs. Hennessey had seen me come in. She could have told Simon-and then I realized that he had been frowning with worry until he saw me on the stairs.
'Do you know a Mrs. Calder?' he continued, and I tried to concentrate on what he was saying.
'Calder? Yes-she's a friend of Marjorie's. Marjorie Evanson.'
'She was attacked last night and nearly killed.'
'She-' I began and had to stop to catch my breath. 'Nearly killed?'
Mrs. Hennessey had made her way down the stairs and said to Simon, 'If you wish to use my sitting room-'
He thanked her and we went into her flat, where a lamp was burning in the small room where she sat in the evening. She asked if we'd like a cup of tea, but Simon shook his head. With that she left us alone, but knowing Mrs. Hennessey, she wouldn't be far, even though she knew that Simon was a family friend. Her staunch Victorian upbringing wouldn't allow her to eavesdrop, but she would be able to hear if I screamed or had to fight for my virtue, since I was not properly dressed to receive a gentleman.
Simon must have read my mind because he smiled grimly and said, 'You had better sit over there. God forbid that we should not observe the proprieties.'
I sat down on one side of the hearth and he took the chair on the other.
'Mrs. Calder?' I reminded him.
'She had gone to dine with friends. Mr. and Mrs. Murray put her into a cab at the end, and she went directly to her house. That's been established. But she didn't go in. The maid waiting up for her was drowsing in her chair, but she would have heard any disturbance on the doorstep.'
'Then it was someone Mrs. Calder knew,' I said. 'She wouldn't have gone anywhere with a stranger, not after what happened to Marjorie Evanson.' I tried to think. 'Have the police found the cabbie?'
'They have, and he doesn't recall anyone walking along the street or standing in the shadows of a tree. But he's an old man, he might not have noticed. At any rate, she got down at Hamilton Place, paid the cabbie, and the last he saw of her, she was walking toward her door. An hour later, a constable walking through Hamilton Place heard something in the square, and alert man that he is, went to investigate. He discovered Mrs. Calder lying in a stand of shrubbery, stabbed and bleeding heavily. She's in hospital now and undergoing surgery. No one has been able to question her. But she wasn't robbed or interfered with in any way. Because of the unsolved attack on Mrs. Evanson, someone, probably the Metropolitan police, thought to bring in Inspector Herbert.'
'Oh, dear.' I put my hands up to my face, pressing them against the flesh, trying to absorb everything Simon was telling me. And then I realized that it was Simon telling me. Letting my hands fall I said, 'How is it that you know all this?'
'Inspector Herbert put in a call to Somerset-he must have thought you were going directly home, but he was taking no chances. You father called me at my club. I came directly here.' He paused. 'Bess. How much did this Mrs. Calder know about Marjorie Evanson's love affair? Did she know the name of the man?'
'She told me she didn't-' But Serena Melton believed Mrs. Calder knew more than she wished to tell even the police. That she found her cousin Marjorie's behavior distasteful and was trying to distance herself from it. 'Serena Melton believes she does. And if that's true, someone else could as well.' Michael Hart had not suggested we talk to Helen Calder. The thought rose like a black shadow in my mind. Had he believed that if Helen knew the name of the man Marjorie had been seeing, it was possible that she also knew Marjorie intended to meet him that evening?
I pushed the thought away. There could be a little jealousy there, because Helen really was a cousin, and Michael was not. But the thought lingered.
Simon was saying, 'The police can't be certain that her attack is related to Mrs. Evanson's death, but they're treating it as likely.'
'She must know who it was. She isn't the kind of woman who would take risks. Is she-will she survive?' With critical stabbing wounds, infection was often the deciding factor in living or dying.
Simon shook his head. 'It's touch and go, I should think. My first responsibility was to look in on you. To see if you'd also been lured out into the night. Mrs. Hennessey couldn't stop a determined killer.'
He was right. If someone knew just what to say-that my mother had suddenly taken ill or something had happened to Simon or my father-I'd go with them. Especially if I thought Mrs. Hennessey had allowed them in this