“I sent one of my men there to speak to her, and he reported that she had left the hospital to attend a funeral. That of Nurse Saunders. Didn’t you tell me she’d seen and spoken to your erstwhile driver? She was found dead the morning after your departure.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I STOOD THERE with my mouth open, so completely taken aback that I couldn’t think what to say.
The fact was, I’d nearly forgot about the nurse who had tried to stop me from leaving France. My father had told me he would deal with the matter, and in our household, that was that. I could put it out of my mind. I most certainly hadn’t given a thought to Nurse Saunders, whom I hadn’t met, but who had seen a killer face-to-face and never realized she was in any danger. It hadn’t even occurred to me to warn her.
The note she had left for Nurse Bailey-and of course for me-had simply stated that my driver had come. But if questioned, she would have known what sort of uniform he was wearing, what rank he held, what he looked like. More to the point, she could corroborate any description that Matron-or I-could give.
“She’s dead?” I repeated slowly. “What happened?”
“She was lying at the side of the street after a convoy of lorries had passed on their way to the Front. It was just after dusk. A horse had been startled, broke away from its owner, and charged madly down the hill toward the port as they were driving through. When she was found it appeared that the horse had knocked her down. She’d left the Base Hospital and walked to a nearby shop where they sold small gifts for newborns. Apparently her sister had just given birth to her first child. At any rate, her skull had the clear imprint of a horse’s hoof around the ear. Her clothing was stained as if she’d rolled after being struck. No one saw the accident. It was too dark.”
“Dear God,” I said blankly. My father had had time to absorb the news. I could only think about that poor unsuspecting woman walking out of the Base Hospital on such a happy errand, and instead walking straight into a vicious killer. In the darkness, with the horse running amok, he could have struck her down with impunity, and who would see it happen? Every eye would have been on that horse. “I’m sorry-”
“My friend looked into the matter, Bess,” my father said, interrupting me. “I don’t think it was the accident it appeared to be. Of course there was the wound on her face, the imprint of a horse’s shoe. And a horse had in fact run loose. But my friend was told by one of the orderlies at the Base Hospital that the surgeon who examined the body was surprised that the blow hadn’t gone deeper. Deep enough to kill, yes, but there was also the weight of the animal behind it, you see, and her skull wasn’t crushed. They decided it was a glancing blow, but the surgeon- from somewhere in Minnesota, I believe-wasn’t buying it. Then a cast shoe was found just beyond where the body lay, and our friend from Minnesota was finally satisfied.”
I thought about that. “There are hundreds of horses coming through Rouen. And dozens of horse-drawn carts. A shoe could easily have been come by in the town.”
“Quite. However, the French police ruled the death an accident, and the Base Hospital didn’t dispute it. They could think of no possible reason why Nurse Saunders should be murdered.”
“Very likely she was,” I agreed. “She’d seen his face clearly. Whoever it was, pretending to be my driver. She could have helped us show that my driver was the same man as the Colonel Prescott who spoke to Matron about Sister Burrows. I thought that once I was out of France it would be over. That there was no need to kill anyone else. Should someone speak to the French police? And what about Matron? Is she in any danger? Is there any way we can warn her?”
“No one in Rouen has connected Nurse Saunders to you in any way. And it’s best for now to leave it like that. As for Matron, I think she’s safe enough. For one thing, she’s always surrounded by staff and patients. For another, you told me that she herself was rather suspicious of this Colonel, and if he sensed that at all, he’ll stay clear of her for fear of making matters worse. Besides, it’s entirely possible that he doesn’t know you’ve spoken to her. On the other hand, if he saw Nurse Saunders on the street and discovered that you’d been sent home in disgrace, he could very well have considered that any investigation into your behavior in Rouen would lead to a counterfeit driver with counterfeit orders. And only Nurse Saunders had seen this man.”
“I hadn’t thought of it from that direction.” I took a deep breath. “We only learned of Nurse Saunders’s death because you took the trouble to allay any suspicions Nurse Bailey might have harbored. We wouldn’t have known otherwise. It’s rather frightening to think that a woman I’ve never met was killed because of me.” I shivered at the thought. “But who is this man?” I asked. “He couldn’t be William Morton. William Morton died two weeks before Captain Carson. Didn’t he?”
“Yes, I’ve looked into that. There’s no doubt of it. But he had brothers, and one could have taken it into his head to exact a little revenge. I don’t want you to return to France for the time being. Not until we’ve located all six of them.”
“Revenge is one thing. Indiscriminate killing is another. Vincent Carson is dead. Why isn’t it finished?”
“That’s why I’ve been as careful as may be about any inquiries. I don’t want to start a witch hunt until we have a better idea of what’s going on. The Army is like Scotland Yard in one sense-any investigation is by its very nature official. And we’ve too little information, much less proof, to take that step.”
“I understand,” I said reluctantly. Still, the sooner we could get to the bottom of this affair, the sooner I could return to France.
“One more thing. I’ve spoke to the Carsons’ solicitors. There were no provisions in Vincent’s will for his sister or her offspring. But then the will was drawn up just before he left for France in the autumn of 1914. He’d have had no reason to add such a bequest at that stage. Morton hadn’t enlisted, the war was expected to end by Christmas, Sabrina was still in disgrace. There was a letter from Vincent to the solicitors after her child was born, indicating an intention on his part to provide for her straightaway. His solicitors drew up a proposal and sent it to France for his approval, but he never returned it. No one seems to know if the proposal was found with his personal effects. According to the solicitors, Julia was unaware of it, and so it was assumed that he must have changed his mind.”
“How sad.” I couldn’t help but wish that Julia had been sent her husband’s journal. There could be an entry in it that would make all the difference.
But the entry could also have read,
“Yes, very sad. All right, take me to Simon, if you will.” He put a comforting hand on my shoulder. “It will be over shortly, my dear. Meanwhile, best to keep you safe.”
I led him from Matron’s office to the surgical ward and presented Sister Randolph, who was on duty. He asked about her patients, and she gave him a brief report on their conditions. He thanked her, walked slowly down the row of cots, nodding to the men who were awake and pausing finally where Simon lay waiting. I heard the Colonel Sahib clear his throat, then say, “Well, Brandon, you’ve decided to live, have you?”
The officer lying next to Simon was awake as well, and he shifted his head toward the two men, curious and unabashedly listening. Men of my father’s rank were not often visitors here, nor did they know many of the patients by name.
I turned away as Simon lifted his left hand to take my father’s.
And then behind me I heard Simon’s voice begin speaking in Hindi, clearly, concisely, a soldier reporting to an officer. I couldn’t help but overhear some of it, but Sister Randolph was saying at my side, “Oh, how nice, he’s found someone who understands the same language.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” I replied, my ears pricked. What were they saying? For my father was answering, and then Simon’s voice responded with additional intelligence.
But even as I was listening with only half my attention on Sister Randolph’s chatter while trying to hear information I was not supposed to have, I felt guilty.
Behind me, my father swore feelingly in Urdu.
“Do you realize what you’re saying? And damn the War Office for keeping it from my people. It would have made a difference if I’d known.” He turned and glanced my way. I was already leading Sister Randolph away.
