Maisie sat on a large cushion on the floor sipping tea, while Maurice was comfortable on the sofa opposite Billy. She set down her cup and saucer on the floor and rubbed at her cold feet.
'I had a feeling, here.' Maisie touched the place between her ribs, at the base of her breastbone.'There was something wrong from the beginning. Of course you know about Vincent. And the others. That was a mistake on Jenkins's part, suggesting to Vincent's family that he be interred at Nether Green because it's a big cemetery, with lots of soldiers' graves. It was a mistake because he used it several times.'
Maisie took a sip of her tea and continued.'I questioned the coincidence of several men buried with only their Christian names to identify them. Then I found out that they were all from the same place. The Retreat.'
'And what else?' asked Billy, waving a hand to disperse the smoke from Maurice's pipe.
'A mistrust--on my part--of someone who wields so much power. The inspiration for The Retreat was admirable. Such places have worked well in France. But, for the most part, those places were set up for soldiers with disfiguring wounds to go to on holiday, not to be there forever. And using only Christian names was Jenkins's innovation. Stripping away a person's name is a very basic manner of control. It's done in all sorts of institutions, such as the army--for example, they called you 'corporal,' not 'Billy,' or possibly--rarely--even 'Beale.''
Billy nodded.
'The irony is, that it was one of the first men to live at The Retreat, Vincent Weathershaw, who gave him the idea for the Christian-names-only mode of address.'
Maisie caught her breath and continued.
'More evidence came to hand after you went to The Retreat. Each cause of death was different--there was even a drowning listed--yet each could be attributed to asphyxiation of some sort. To the untrained eye, an accident. The word of the examiner would not be questioned. No police were involved, they were considered to be deaths from 'accidental' or 'natural' causes--and as the men were all seeking relief from torment by coming to The Retreat, the families had no lingering questions. In fact, there was often relief that the loved one would not have to suffer anymore,' said Maisie.
'Indeed.' Maurice looked at Maisie, who did not return his gaze. He took up the story. 'Then there was Jenkins's own history. How could someone who had given his superiors cause to refer to him as 'innocuous' have gained such power? Maisie telephoned the doctor who had supervised his care at Craiglockhart--the hospital in Scotland where shell-shocked officers were sent during the war. The poet Siegfried Sassoon was there.'
'Well, sir, I ain't never bin much of a one for poetry.' Billy waved smoke away from his face once more.
'The doctor, who is now at the Maudsley psychiatric hospital in London, informed me that Jenkins's mental state was not as serious as some,' said Maisie,'But there was cause for concern.'
'I'll bet there was.' Billy rubbed at the red weal left by the rope at his neck.
'You know what happened to deserters, Billy?'
Billy looked at his hands and turned them back and forth, inspecting first the palms, then his knuckles.'Yes. Yes I do, Miss.'
'They were taken and shot. At dawn. We talked about it. Some of them just young boys of seventeen or eighteen--they were scared out of their wits. It's been rumored that there was even a case of two being shot for accidentally falling asleep while on duty.'Tears came to Maisie's eyes and she pursed her lips together.'Jenkins was the commanding officer instructed to deal with a desertion. 'Innocuous' Jenkins. Much against his will--and apparently he did question his orders--he was instructed to preside over such an execution.'
'And . . .'
Billy sat forward in the leather chair.
'He carried out orders. Had he not, then he might well have been subject to the same fate. To disobey would have been insubordination.'
Maisie got up from the floor and walked to the window. Maurice's eyes followed her, then turned to Billy.'The mind can do strange things, Billy. Just as we can become used to pain, so we can become used to experience, and in some cases a distasteful experience is made more palatable if we embrace it.'
'Like putting sugar in the castor oil.'
'Something of that order. Jenkins's sugar was the power he claimed. One might argue that it was the only way for him to stomach the situation. He was not a man strong in spirit. So close was he to the act of desertion that it made him detest the actual deserter, and in meting out this terrible, terrible punishment, he maintained control over the part of him that would have run away. He became very good at dealing with battlefield deserters. Indeed, he enjoyed a level of success, we understand, that he did not enjoy in other areas of responsibility.'
Maurice looked again at Maisie, who turned to face Billy.'Jenkins's idea of founding The Retreat was formed in good faith. But once again the need for control emerged. The chain of murders began when one of the men wanted to leave. Jenkins felt the man's decision keenly. He was, in effect, deserting The Retreat. For Jenkins, his mind deeply affected by the war, there was only one course of action. And then one death made the others easier.'
'Blimey,' whispered Billy.
'Had you been at The Retreat longer, you too would have heard it said that it was difficult to depart with one's life. Obviously he could not shoot a man--it would not be easy for the medical examiner to disguise the truth of such a wound--but he could use a more dramatic method. This gallows in the quarry would not break a man's neck, but would deprive the body of oxygen for just about long enough to take a life. A death that it would be easy to attribute to suicide or accident. And he must have been in a hurry with you, Billy, because with the others, a heavy cloth was wrapped around the noose. The rope marks were not as livid as the necklace you're now wearing.'
Billy once again rubbed at his neck. 'I reckon it's all bleedin' wrong, this 'ere business of shootin' deserters. I tell you, 'alf of us didn't know what the bloody 'ell we were supposed to be doin' over there anyway. I know the officers, specially the young ones, didn't.'
Maurice pointed the stem of his pipe at Billy, ready to comment. 'Interesting point, Billy. You may be interested to know that Ernest Thurtle, an American by birth, now the MP for Whitechapel, has worked hard in Parliament to have the practice banned--it wouldn't surprise me if a new law were passed in the next year or so.'
