The conversation went on for another several minutes. Then my father said, “Heal. We need you.”
He was striding up the room toward Sister Randolph and me, and as he thanked her, he reached for my arm and guided me toward the door.
“Come with me. Let’s hope we don’t encounter Matron along the way.”
We didn’t. The staff was busy handing out medications, and Dr. Gaines was closeted with one of his patients. We walked calmly toward the door and out into the evening sunlight. I blinked. The Colonel Sahib led me down the short shallow steps and across the lawns to a bench set under a stand of trees.
“How much do you know about why Brandon was in France?”
I’d learned long since to tell my father the truth when it came to regimental business.
“Only a little,” I told him, adding, “It was the Gurkhas who brought him in after he was wounded. I never saw them, but suddenly he was there. I could guess that he’d been behind the German lines.”
I remembered too that I’d drugged him, to keep him quiet, when he’d asked specifically to get word to my father. A wash of guilt swept over me.
“What else?” My father turned his back on the clinic, his eyes on my face.
“There’s a German spy behind our lines. Or so Simon believed.”
“Go on.”
“And he was trying to find him. That’s why it was necessary to capture a German officer to question.”
“Yes. All right. You shouldn’t have overheard any of that, but no harm done. The question is now, who are we looking for? Who killed Carson and your Private Wilson, and Nurse Saunders? William Morton or one of his brothers? Or a German behind British lines looking for an identity.”
There had been talk of spies from the start. Even before the war began. German waiters in popular restaurants or staff in hotels were accused of spying. Professors and clerics and students from Germany were suspected. Even men from the north of England, whose accents were unfamiliar, found themselves stopped and questioned by overzealous citizens and policemen. The English coastline, broken by a thousand river mouths and inlets and hidden beaches, was always rife with speculation about spies being landed from submarines or small boats that had escaped the notice of the Royal Navy. There were even tales of spies being lowered from Zeppelins on misty nights and disappearing into the countryside. But was any of it true? Seeing monsters under the bed was one thing, real spies quite another.
“I don’t quite see what a spy has to gain,” I answered. “But if he exists, he must have spent some time in England. No one who spoke to this man we’re concerned with mentioned anything about him that would indicate that he was German. But there are his eyes, a very pale color. You’d think Berlin could find someone without any characteristic that would stand out.”
“Yes, well, this spy hunt is of course a secret. I haven’t been told anything about it officially. And apparently Simon was only given enough information to carry out his foray. In fact, he was ordered not to question his prisoner. But between us, I think we’ve begun to piece together enough to worry both of us.”
“Did he bring someone in?” I asked, curious.
“He says he did, and that when he was wounded in a rearguard action, the Gurkhas split up, half the company getting Simon to an aid station against all orders, and the rest taking the prisoner in.”
“They were to leave Simon?” I asked, shocked.
“They were to see that there were no wounded left behind who could be questioned by the Germans.” My father’s voice was grim.
Which meant that they were to kill any wounded who were in the way. It was a measure of their respect for the Sergeant-Major that they had disobeyed that order. It explained too why the Gurkhas left him at the nearest aid station and then vanished.
I bit my lip, trying to see where my father was going with this. “What are we to do?”
My father was studying the sky, watching a few scudding clouds that had appeared on the horizon, just visible now from under the leafy shelter of the trees.
The Colonel Sahib turned to me. “A single man, this spy. A single target? If he didn’t come for information-troop movements and the like, where the next attack might come-then he came for
“Who?” I asked. “Who in France is irreplaceable?”
“If he were in the American lines, I’d say one of their commanders. Surely they’re the biggest threat to the Germans just now.”
“But he isn’t behind the American lines. And he passes himself off as a Colonel.”
“Hmm,” my father said.
And then I knew. Or thought I did. Just as my father said under his breath, “The Prince of Wales.”
He wasn’t allowed to fight. But he visited the Front often enough, and he was very popular with the men.
“What good would that do? How would it affect the war?” I went on. “And not to be unfeeling about it, the Prince does have other brothers.”
“It would shock the country, hurt morale.”
It was hard to believe, all the same. And yet I couldn’t think of anyone else who was as popular as the Prince.
“I can’t believe-he and the Kaiser are
“What the Army does and the Kaiser knows might not be the same. Of course it’s possible that our problem and Simon’s aren’t connected-they seem to be because we know only a part of the story. Are you willing to beard a lion in its den?”
“A lion?” I asked warily.
“There are seven sons in the Morton family. Will was the actor, the others were miners and farmers. Respectable enough men, five of them. I shouldn’t think they’re a problem to themselves or others. And then there’s Hugh. He was closest to Will, or so my sources tell me, and he was a union leader before the war, best known for hiring several rather disreputable men to enforce his will. At the moment, he’s missing from his unit in France. He has been since his brother was reported dead. He could have killed Carson. He could be dead himself. But we need to know. And as quickly as may be.”
“Could Hugh Morton impersonate an officer?” I asked doubtfully. If he had been a union leader, he knew something about charming and haranguing his followers, but those were not the skills that would help him carry off such a charade.
“If there’s one actor in the family, I don’t see why another brother couldn’t have a talent in that direction. For all we know, he might be even more talented and simply chose not to use it. Take young Barclay with you. The best approach is that you are concerned for young Sabrina. Find out, if you can, which sons can be accounted for. I don’t think we’re going to find that Hugh is our man. He’s dead, very likely, just as William is. Still, if he’s our killer, then we have nothing to do with this spy business and can safely leave it to those who
“What if Hugh is there? In Wales?” I asked.
“He isn’t. I can almost guarantee that. How is he going to get out of France? What I want to know is if the family mourns him. Or if they consider him still alive.”
“And Simon?”
“He’s best where he is. I don’t think Dr. Gaines will let him slip through his fingers.” He looked toward the clinic again, and I read the emotions flitting across his face. Worry, doubt, and a stronger feeling, anger. He had never left one of his men behind. Of course Simon had known the risk. To my father, it made no difference.
He left soon after that, and later in the evening, I asked Dr. Gaines if I could borrow his motorcar and of course Captain Barclay on my next free afternoon.
I was given permission and went to ask Captain Barclay if he would accompany me. He’d been avoiding me. Not quite making it obvious, but he hadn’t been seeking out my company the way he had before he’d become Barclay the orderly. One of the sisters had commented that I’d lost my beau to someone else.
He said, shaking his head as I told him I needed an escort, “I let you down in France.”
“My father asked if I’d take you to Wales with me. He must not agree.”
“Hardly the most dangerous place in the kingdom.”
“It could well be. All right, I’ll go alone if I must.” I’d been a witness to his attempt to trick Dr. Gaines with the butcher’s paper and it must have stung. I realized that this was not the best time to ask a favor.
