“Yes, I think I am.” He got unsteadily to his feet, and I gave him my arm. After the first several steps he’d regained his strength, and it was an uneventful return to the ward.
To our relief, the sister on night duty was about to collect the medicine tray, and we waited in a doorway until she had gone. Simon walked the last distance to his cot himself without my assistance, and I’d just seen him safely under the sheet when Sister Roberts returned to the ward.
Peering down the length of it, she said, “Sister Crawford?”
I replied, “Indeed. I was passing on my way to my quarters and I thought I heard someone ask for water.”
“Who was it?”
I was already halfway up the ward. “I expect he was calling out in his sleep.”
“Oh, yes, of course, that must be the surgical case from this afternoon,” she answered, coming to look down on the sleeping man. “He’s not allowed anything to drink yet. I’ll just find a cloth and dip it in cool water. That should help.”
I knew better than to offer to do it for her. I wished her good night and went on to my room.
It had been a long day, and to my surprise I slept well. It would be at least two days, possibly three, before I had an answer to my letter.
My father was difficult to convince.
He said, as we walked under the trees, “Have you mentioned this to Brandon?”
“I thought it best not to.”
“Yes, quite right. Your mother is against it, of course, but she left the matter to my own good judgment. I’m not sure that I don’t agree with her.”
“We’ll never know, will we, if we don’t go looking for this man. And there are several points in favor of returning this way.” I’d given the matter a good deal of thought while waiting for my father’s opinion. “I’ll be far less vulnerable than I was before. I’ll be under orders that can’t be meddled with. My schedule will be random, not rigid or predictable. And I’ll be on special assignment where any attack on me would draw instant attention. He’d be foolish even to try-whatever he’s up to, he’s not likely to risk everything on one attempt to silence me. On the other hand, there are only so many places a deserter-or a spy-can hide. There are patrols in towns like Calais or Rouen. Captain Barclay ran into one. The main supply routes and roads for columns moving up are too busy. He must stay on the fringes of military movement.”
“True enough, but there will be other ways of hunting him down.”
“Are there? You can initiate a hunt by the Army, but I’m the only one who can identify the man.”
“You saw him in the motorcar. Was he of a size to be this Hugh Morton?”
“He was hunched over the wheel. All I could see was the muffler around the lower part of his face. I was concentrating on trying to identify him.”
And then I remembered the driver’s heavy dark brows. Hugh Morton’s father had been fair, and so had David in the upper window, what little I could see of his face and head in that one brief glance. I hadn’t thought then to ask Hugh’s coloring. Even if I had, how would I have put such a question?
“Yes, of course.” He walked away from me, then paced back again. “It’s a terrible risk, Bess.”
“If we don’t find him, then Major Carson, Private Wilson, and even Nurse Saunders will have died for nothing.”
“I understand. But what you propose-in light of what happened to Edith Cavell-may not sit well with your superiors.”
“I shan’t be looking for spies. Or dealing with the German Army. Or watching for an English deserter. I shall simply be visiting aid stations with a view to improving care. It’s done, isn’t it? The Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service maintains high standards with an eye to its reputation and that of its staff. I’m young to be filling such a role, but I’ve had many hours of battlefield nursing. Dr. Gaines can vouch for that, and Dr. Hicks as well.”
“And if my information is correct, the Prince will be returning to the Front shortly.”
“A single man in Sarajevo began this war,” I pointed out. “A single sniper would be difficult to stop.”
“I shall have to find someone in my wide circle of friends who knows someone with high enough rank in the Service to make the suggestion,” he pointed out. “It should not come from me.”
“Melinda Crawford, perhaps?”
He smiled, the lines of worry smoothing out on his face.
“A brilliant stroke, even if you are my daughter.”
For Melinda, while not on the Service’s staff, had advised them in the initial stages of their development and organization of training. Not only did she know most of the important women in the Service’s governing body, but her own experiences in India had made her an ideal resource in studying the conditions that the Service’s nursing sisters would be called upon to face. She had had much to do as well in choosing the sort of young women who would bring honor rather than disrepute to the Service.
My parents hadn’t consulted her when I chose nursing, because they hadn’t wished to involve her in a family decision. They had firmly believed that I should survive or fail on my own merits, rather than Melinda Crawford’s influence. And I had always been grateful for that.
My father had already spent some ten minutes with Simon on matters not for my ears, and as he prepared to take his leave now, he asked how I thought the Sergeant-Major was progressing.
“As well as can be expected,” I answered, trying for middle ground and not betraying Simon to my father.
The Colonel Sahib nodded, leaned forward to kiss my cheek, and then was gone. As I crossed to the house, I listened to the sound of his motorcar disappearing in the distance.
I had got my way. Not completely, but far enough to feel a sense of satisfaction that my father had listened to me.
But in spite of everything I’d told him-and I believed all that I’d said, that this was the safest way to proceed-I would have to be very careful indeed. Or I could still fall victim to this killer.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FROM THE MOMENT my father had turned the bonnet of his motorcar toward Kent, things moved very rapidly. Whatever qualms she might have had for my sake, Melinda Crawford was quick to see the advantage of what my father proposed. What’s more, he would have given her a full account of all that had happened. She had known Vincent Carson. She too would wish to see his killer brought to book.
Three days later I was summoned to London to discuss reassignment to France.
I stayed that night in London with Mrs. Hennessey at the flat.
She was overjoyed to see me and spent half an hour telling me all the news about my flatmates and about her own cronies. She insisted that I have dinner with her in her small dining room, asking after my parents and Simon.
She had once been involved in an attempt by a murderer to reach my rooms, and afterward she had sung the praises of the Sergeant-Major for saving both our lives. Since that time, he had ranked with my father in her opinion, and she admitted to being quite fond of him.
I didn’t tell her about his wounds-there was no need to worry her-and I enjoyed my dinner immensely, for she had told her friend the butcher that she expected him to do her proud with a bit of beef that he held back sometimes for his special customers. It was not legal, but even butchers had to stay in business for the duration, and the small roast we ate wouldn’t have made the tiniest dent in the needs of the nation.
The next morning I took the early train to Portsmouth, with my father to see me off, and slept a little while I could. In my pocket were the credentials I would need over the next few weeks, or for as long as it took to find a murderer.
The ship made good time against heavy seas, for the weather broke with a vengeance as an early summer storm moved in off the Atlantic. The skies turned gray, the rain pelted down, and the warmth I’d enjoyed at my bedroom window vanished in cold air that made standing on deck unpleasant in the extreme.
It was still raining when we reached Rouen, but the worst had passed. A driver was waiting for me, and I was
