A Bitter Truth

Chapter Fifteen

Well out of sight of the police outside, I stood there in Reception, trying to contain my impatience and my worry. My mother wouldn’t have telephoned me unless it was a dire emergency.

Was it Simon, who hadn’t come back as he’d promised in “a day-a day and a half at most”?

Or my father. Had something happened to the Colonel Sahib?

I was trying to think what to say to Inspector Rother if I had to leave for London straightaway, or even Somerset.

I decided then that if it was necessary, I would take the Ellis motorcar and drive to London without telling anyone. The same hotel clerk could carry a note to the family in the morning, when it would be too late to stop me. I’d find someone in London who could ferry the motorcar back to Sussex. One of my flatmates, if anyone was there. Someone. I was willing to pay handsomely, it wouldn’t be impossible.

Finally the artillery officer who had been using the telephone stepped away from it, and as I hurried forward, I heard him say to the woman behind the desk, “I shall need to put through another call to London shortly. Will you keep the line clear?”

My heart plummeted. As far as I knew there was no other telephone in Hartfield.

She saw me hesitate. “This young woman has missed a call from her family. She looks very worried. Would you mind if she used the instrument meanwhile? I’m sure it won’t take very long.”

He turned, on the point of saying no, I could read it in his face. And then he saw that I was a nursing sister, and his expression changed.

“Yes, go ahead, Sister.”

I thanked him and after some difficulty with the lines, I put through the call to Somerset.

The phone rang and rang, my anxiety growing with each ring.

And then my mother’s voice came down the line.

“Bess, dear?”

“I’m here, Mother. Is the Colonel all right? Simon?”

“Yes, my dear, they’ve been delayed. I have a feeling they’re in Scotland. Or else training Scottish troops. Your father murmured something about haggis as he left.”

I was so relieved I couldn’t stop my lower lip from trembling, and it was a moment before I said, “That’s wonderful.”

“Not the haggis, Bess, he abominates it.”

I swallowed a bubble of hysterical laughter.

She went on, “Are you all right? Simon was quite worried about having to abandon you. Richard wasn’t very happy about it either.”

“Yes, I’m very well, Mother. It’s been rather trying, but I hope the police will be satisfied soon.” Was this the reason she’d called? Because she was worried about me?

But then she said, “I had a telephone call earlier this evening. An hour or so ago. Someone trying to reach you. Apparently he was in Dover, in some difficulties with the authorities there, and needed to speak to you urgently. He wouldn’t give me his name, and I rather thought there must be others listening in to his side of the conversation. But he said you would remember the kingfisher. Do you have any idea what on earth he was talking about?”

I drew a blank for all of ten seconds. And then I did laugh. “Did he sound Australian to you?”

“I’m not sure, Bess. His voice was very strained, and he coughed every other breath. In fact, he seemed to have some trouble breathing.”

“How on earth did he find you in Somerset?”

“I’ve no idea. He begged me to reach you, and he said he’d be waiting in Dover for you, and if you could come there straightaway, he would be very grateful. He said it was most urgent, or he’d be clapped in irons and everything would be lost.”

I couldn’t imagine why Sergeant Larimore should be telephoning me from Dover, or even how he got there.

“Was he-do you think he’d been drinking?” I asked, for the Australians had a reputation for putting away large quantities of beer. And he might have taken a dare and tried to come to England.

“I couldn’t tell, not with the coughing. He wouldn’t leave a number. He said you must come as quickly as you could.”

“I’m not supposed to leave here,” I began, and then I had one of those feelings we all get at one time or another, that I ought to go. After all, Dover was closer than London or Somerset. If I was prepared to risk Inspector Rother’s ire by leaving to go to either place, why not risk it and go to Dover? If the Sergeant was a deserter-and somehow I couldn’t picture him abandoning his men-he’d be in a great deal of trouble. I wasn’t sure what I could do, but I would try to help.

“I’ve changed my mind. Mother, if he should telephone you again, tell him I’m on my way.”

“Yes, I’d feel very much better if you did go. But it’s late to be starting out for Dover, my dear, and you must be very careful. Promise?”

“I promise.” Out of the corner of my eye I could see the officer hovering, wanting his telephone back. “I must go, someone else needs to use the telephone. I’ll give you a shout as soon as I can.”

“I’ll send Simon to you as soon as he returns.”

“Thank you. Good night. And don’t worry.”

“And you’ll tell me all about this kingfisher, won’t you?”

She put up the receiver on that note, and I turned to thank the officer trying to hide his impatience.

As I turned away, I said to the woman at Reception, “What happened across the street?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I looked out the door just now and saw one of the constables speaking to Inspector Rother. I didn’t know he was in Hartfield this evening-he often dines with us when he’s here, and I hadn’t seen him. Someone who came in just after you said something about a fire. But I haven’t seen the fire brigade.”

I thanked her and was about to wait outside for Roger Ellis to come, when the officer using the telephone came striding out and said to the woman behind the desk, “I’m off, then. Thank you for your help.”

Off?

I stepped forward and asked, “Major? May I ask where you’re going-and if you have a motorcar?”

“Yes, I do. I’m reporting to Dover tonight. They’ve canceled my leave.”

“Please? Would you mind if I go with you? I-I’ve had a summons from Dover as well, and I’m not sure how to get there.” Holding out my hand, I said, “My name is Elizabeth Crawford. I’m Colonel Crawford’s daughter.”

“By all means, I’ll be happy to escort you to Dover.”

Turning to the woman behind the desk, I said, “Please, if Captain Ellis comes, will you tell him I will be back as quickly as possible?”

We went out to his motorcar and drove out of Hartfield, crossing the railroad tracks outside the town before turning toward Kent, and Dover, on the English Channel. He reached in the back and brought out a rug, which I pulled around my shoulders.

The night had turned cold, the stars overhead bright in the blackness of the sky, and I could feel my feet beginning to go numb from the frigid air. The heater was barely sufficient for one of them, and I kept alternating them close by the vent. Once or twice we stopped on the verge of the road and stamped some circulation back into our limbs. Major Hutton asked me at one point where I lived, and when I told him London, he said, “Then you’ve been to see the bear?”

My mind was on Dover. “The bear?” I repeated, then remembered.

A Canadian officer of the Fort Garry Horse, one Lieutenant Colebourn, had smuggled a small female black bear into England. Her name was Winnipeg, after the town where he lived. When he and his unit sailed for France, he left her in the care of the London zoo. She was enormously popular. Diana, Mary, and I had gone to see her one afternoon, and I told the Major this.

He grinned as we walked together in the glare of the headlamps, his teeth very white in the shadow of his military mustache. “I took my future wife there the first time we went out to dine. Two years ago. She’s expecting our child now, and she’s threatened to name it Winnipeg, if it’s a son.”

“Be very glad, sir, that you didn’t take her to see one of those Australian kingfishes, a kookabura.”

We laughed together, and then, blowing on our fingers, we walked back to the motorcar. I was glad of the Major’s company on this dark and twisting road.

Outside Chatham we stopped again, and later drove through the silent streets of Canterbury. It was nearly dawn when we drove down from the cliffs and into the seaside town of Dover.

It had grown with the influx of people coming from and going to France, and even at this early hour there were men lining up for roll call before being marched on board. Their faces pinched with the cold and anxiety for what lay ahead, they looked dreadfully young to me. The days when men lined up in their dozens to be the first to enlist had long since passed. Now the reality of the trenches had scoured away that bravado, and in its place were these recruits, afraid of shaming themselves in front of their mates but probably wishing themselves anywhere but here.

The Major asked me to drop him near a cluster of officers standing some distance away from the Sergeants barking orders.

“If you will, take the motorcar to HQ. Someone there will see to it. Do you have time?”

“Yes, sir.” I took the wheel and went first to the police station. But they knew nothing about an Australian Sergeant, and so I went to find the officer in charge of the port.

He was sitting in a cramped office that overlooked the sea. It was filled with paperwork, with ships’ manifests, lists of supplies destined for France and no doubt roll after roll of names, and all the other paraphernalia of getting men and materiel across the sea to France.

He looked up as I was admitted, rising tiredly from his chair. “Sister,” he said.

“Good morning, sir. Sister Crawford, sir. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I understand there’s an Australian Sergeant who is in Dover, possibly without his proper papers.” I’d had the long dark ride across Kent to think about what I should say.

I’d expected a blank stare. But he said, “Ah, yes. I think he’s being held in one of the huts under guard. Number seventeen. He says he has a head wound and can’t remember much after the forward dressing station. It’s likely he came from the Base Hospital in Rouen, judging from his blue uniform. He can’t remember how he got aboard a ship. He claims you’ll be looking for him.”

“Yes, sir, he’s been quite troublesome, wandering off,” I said, feeling my way. “Er, how does he look?”

“His hair is singed, he has no eyebrows, and his hands are badly burned. I had someone take a look at him.”

He hadn’t been burned when last I saw him. “He’s not accountable,” I said.

“I should think not. When he’s questioned, he breaks out in crazed laughter. It gave me quite a start the first time I heard it. He was brought here because he was stopped on the street and couldn’t account for himself.”

More bewildered than anything else, I said, “I think I ought to have a look at him. We need to return him to France as soon as possible. He’ll have been reported missing by now.”

“You’ll be careful? I’ll send one of my men with you.”

“I’ll be all right,” I told him, not wishing to have an audience when I found Sergeant Larimore. Gesturing to the cluttered desk in front of him, I said, “You have enough on your hands this morning. I saw the recruits preparing to report.”

“Yes, poor devils. Thank you, Sister Crawford. Any relation to Colonel Crawford and his family?”

“He’s my father.”

“Is he, by God!” His attitude warmed considerably. “Tell me what you need, Sister, and I’ll see that you get it.”

I thanked him and went out. The port was cluttered and crowded. I managed to find the line of huts. They turned out to be temporary housing for any number of offices associated with the smooth running of the port. Number seventeen, set to one side of the rest, had a soldier on guard by the door.

With a sinking heart, I walked up to the soldier, a grizzled veteran with a decided limp, and told him I’d been asked to take a look at his charge.

“I don’t think it’s safe, Sister,” he warned me. “He’s right barmy, is that one.”

“I’ve handled worse cases. They seem to respond to the uniform,” I said pleasantly.

With some reluctance, he stood aside. “I’ll stay within call,” he promised.

I went to the door. It was, to my surprise, unlocked. I walked in as the first late rays of winter sun rose over the horizon and sent a shaft of light across the gray Channel to wash the drab, salt-stained huts a pale gold.

At first I couldn’t see anyone in the dark interior. And then as my eyes grew accustomed to the shadows, I saw that there were two cots in the room, and a bucket on the floor between them. Nothing else.

“Sergeant? Sergeant Larimore?” I said, and immediately the prone figure on one of the cots shot up with an oath.

“Sister,” he answered in a low, hoarse voice. “Great God, woman, I’d given you up.” He stood, and the light of the rising sun caught him full in the face.

I gasped. He was burned, just as the Captain had said, his face raw, his eyebrows all but gone, his hair shorter in front than in the back. His blue hospital uniform was torn, stained with God knew what, and scorched.

“What happened to you?” I asked, appalled.

“We haven’t time to talk. You must get me out of here, it’s-just trust me, and I’ll tell you everything,” he pleaded in a hoarse whisper.

“But you’re in Dover-how did you get here? What have you done?”

“Never mind that. I’ve told them I had a head wound, I’m out of my mind. Just play along, Sister, and help me. For God’s sake.”

I had two choices: to go along with whatever it was he wanted to do or to turn him over to the authorities as a deserter. And if I did that, he would be shot.

I said, exasperation clear in my voice as I spoke loud enough to reach the sentry outside, “Sergeant. I told you I must go to England. Not you. Didn’t you understand? I can’t help you here, you should have stayed with Sister Barlow. She’s a good nurse. And none of this would have happened.”

A grin split his thin, tired face. But his voice was humble as he answered, “Sister, please help me. My head hurts something terrible, I can’t think straight. You told me you’d see me right. That’s why I came looking for you.”

“It’s a wonder you haven’t fallen ill of pneumonia. Oh, very well, Sergeant. Come along and I’ll do what I can. But give me any trouble and I’ll turn you in to the nearest soldier.”

I pushed at the door, and the guard took two quick steps out of its way as it swung open. I could tell he’d been listening. But he asked, “Everything all right, Sister?”

“Yes, he’s not clear in his mind. I’ll find a doctor and see about returning him to France.”

“Shall I go with you? He don’t appear dangerous to me, but you never know.” He looked Sergeant Larimore up and down. The Sergeant managed a lunatic grin. “He’s a big ’un, and it’s the quiet ones that go off their heads when you least expect it.”

“He’s too ill to hurt a fly,” I scoffed. “You may report that I take full responsibility.” Then turning to Sergeant Larimore at my heels, I said, “See what you’ve got me into. And don’t make that ridiculous noise again. This way.”

“Yes, Sister,” he replied meekly.

In single file we walked back down the row of huts, and then out through the port gates, no one stopping us, although I saw several faces turned our way, curiosity writ large. I couldn’t help but think that it would take all the Colonel Sahib’s authority to save me if this went wrong.

But the Sergeant loped behind me, head hung in contrition, looking like a lost soul in need of resurrection.

When we’d cleared the gates and were some one hundred paces farther along, he caught me up, saying in a very different tone of voice, “You must come with me. Quickly.”

“Where?”

“Not here.” We walked on into the town, avoiding the foot traffic and all the lorries that had finished unloading their cargo on the ships, their drivers looking now for breakfast before making the long drive back to London. We passed half a dozen officers who nodded to me and then looked askance at the man trailing me.

“Sergeant. We ought to get off the streets. I have a motorcar-”

“That hotel on the far corner. Do you see it?”

I did. A seedy hotel favored by ships’ crews and with something of an unsavory reputation.

“That’s where we’re heading.”

We covered the distance without mishap, and he led me in the door.

The woman behind the desk, her eyes sharp and knowing, said, “Hold on, I’ll have none of that here.”

I said in my best imitation of Matron, “We’ve come to fetch the Sergeant’s things. He’s ill, he ought to be in hospital.”

She turned her gaze to his face. “Anything catching?”

“I don’t know. The sooner he’s examined, the better. Now will you let us pass?”

She nodded, adding, “Just get him out of my hotel quick as may be.”

We climbed stairs tracked with muddy footprints.

“It was the best I could do,” he said softly. “They wouldn’t let me through the door of a decent place. Not like this.”

“I understand.”

We walked down a passage with bare floorboards and ill-painted doors to either side. Sergeant Larimore stopped at one of them, dug in his pocket for the key, and unlocked the door. “I’ll go first,” he said, and I let him, not knowing what lay ahead.

But it was only an empty room, the bedclothes a-tumble.

“There was a fire,” he said, turning to look at me. “Half the houses went up in flames. After you left, I’d been keeping an eye on Rue St. Catherine whenever I could slip out of hospital, and I was one of the first on the scene. I rescued as many people as I could before the roofs started to come down. Dry as tinder, those old houses, in spite of the rain we’ve had.”

I was watching his face, dawning horror drying up my throat.

“The nuns-did you see the nuns?” I couldn’t say anything else.

“They got out safely. I saw the elderly one. Her robes were singed about as bad as my uniform, but she was looking after her charges.”

“They made it out safely?” I asked. “All of them?”

“All of them. Only I got away with one of them.” He walked to the tumble of bedclothes, and I realized with something like shock that a small child was asleep in the cocoon of sheets.

I went to the bedside myself, gently pulled a corner of a coverlet away, and a strand of fair hair, bright as sunlight in the dingy room, caught in my fingers.

“Sergeant-you didn’t-you kidnapped her! The nuns will think she burned in the fire. They-they’ll be distraught!”

“It was the only chance to get her out of there,” he said, his voice still hoarse. “The house is rubble. What was I to do? Leave her to the French authorities to decide her future? Not likely! You would never find her again.”

It was so like Sergeant Larimore to have acted on the spur of the moment, when the opportunity came his way, knowing I was gravely concerned about this child’s fate. I couldn’t fault him-and yet I was horrified by the decision he’d made. What on earth was I to do about this?

He’d listened to every word I’d said about her, that was clear enough, and he remembered everything I’d told him about myself, or he’d never have known how to contact my mother. I couldn’t help but be amazed as well as shocked. He was the most extraordinary man.

He stood there while I took it all in, giving me time to come to terms with all that he’d just related to me.

I sighed. “What are we to do now?”

“I see it this way, Sister. You get me aboard a ship soon as may be, telling them I was out of my mind from a fire in an empty house where I’d wandered, and that I must be returned to the Base Hospital. And you take the little girl home. We both come out of this without any trouble. You still have leave, don’t you?”

“Yes, but-” I pictured Inspector Rother’s furious face. “Yes,” I said firmly.

He was right about his own situation. I had to get him safely back to France, I couldn’t let him be disciplined or put in any further jeopardy on my account.

“How did you smuggle her out of Rouen? She doesn’t know you.”

“I was clever. I took her to an American nurse, told her the child was frightened out of her wits-and that was true, as God is my witness!-and could she sedate her until I could find her family. Everyone knew about the fire. You could see the flames and then the smoke. It was dark, everything at sixes and sevens. I think she’s a little sweet on me, that nurse, and she gave the child something to calm her. She’s been sleeping like this ever since. Exhaustion as well as the drug. I went out to get some milk for her last night, and that’s when I was picked up. I was frantic something would happen to her while I was in custody.” He gestured to the door. “I had a key, for what it’s worth. But I had to take the chance, Sister. There wasn’t much choice.”

“But how did you get her aboard ship?”

“That was the easiest part. It was late, very dark, and there were a great many wounded being loaded. I slipped aboard when no one was looking and found a rope locker down below. When we landed I picked up a mop and a pail, and walked off with it in one hand and the little one wrapped up in an Army blanket and slung over my shoulder. We’d only just arrived when I telephoned your mother, and I found this hotel straightaway. I couldn’t help but think I might have been a German spy. There’s a frightening thought for you.”

“Yes, and you could well have been mistaken for one. And shot. It was a terrible risk. And what would they have said, if they’d found you with Sophie?”

“I’d have told them she was mine. That I’d taken her from her dead French mother and was carrying her to my English fiancée.” He grinned. “That’s you. Besides, I’m fair enough to make that believable.”

And he was.

“Sister Marie Joseph will be mourning her. They will all mourn her. I must take her back.”

“No such thing, Sister. She belongs here. And she’s young enough to settle in now. Wait until the war is over and the lawyers are finished, and it will be twice as hard for her. She’ll be right as rain, wait and see.”

But Roger Ellis was in England just now, and that complicated matters no end. I’d let him think I hadn’t found her. What would he say when I walked into Vixen Hill with her?

The Sergeant said gently, almost as if he realized the quandary I was in, “You can always take her back, if it doesn’t work out.”

And he was right, I could. But with what explanation?

“They don’t have to know she left France. Someone could have rescued her and kept her. She’s that pretty.”

And that was true too.

“All right.”

He pulled back the bedclothes, lifted Sophie like a bundle of old clothes, although his hands were gentle and he held her with care.

“Do you have children of your own?” I asked, watching him.

“God, no, Sister. I haven’t found the right wife yet.”

We went out the door, down the passage, and out into the street. I made a point of leaving the key on the desk at Reception.

Outside, he said, “You’d better hurry. She’s waking up.”

“Let me have her.”

“Not yet. She’s heavier than you’d think.”

But he gave her to me when we reached the port again, and I walked along the water until I found a ship bound for Rouen. There was a nursing sister mopping up blood from the deck as we came aboard, and I said, “Sister, I’ve got a patient here. He’s not right in his mind. Somehow he got sent to England with the latest casualties because of his burns, but he belongs at the Base Hospital in Rouen. Can you see him safely back there? My leave is just starting, I’d hate to lose it.”

She straightened up, massaging her back. I knew how it must hurt after a night voyage from France.

“Base Hospital, you said? Rouen? Is he an American?”

“No, he was there being treated. He was collected with the other casualties by mistake. He’s safe enough, he just has no idea where he is or how he got here. He’ll sit quietly until you tell him to disembark.”

It took some persuasion. I didn’t think she wanted to be encumbered by a patient on the return crossing, when she could spend the time catching up on her sleep. But Sergeant Larimore was a tall, attractive man, and that was in his favor. I could read that in her face too.

I said, “He’s no trouble. Just confused and uncertain. Will you see him safely back?”

“Just starting your leave, you said? Where did you find him?”

“Walking the streets of Dover. Fortunately I recognized him. A pathetic case, really, I don’t know if he’ll ever be entirely right. But he’s gentle. I’ve had no trouble with him.”

Sophie stirred in her bundle of wraps.

“Who’s that?” the sister said, peering into the little face that was emerging.

“My goddaughter. I really must go. Her mother will be frantic by now. I was just taking Sophie for a walk when I ran into the Sergeant here.”

“All right, I’ll see him safely back to base.” She looked him up and down. “Was he in a fire?”

I shrugged. “How should I know? When I left him, he was clean, shaven, and quiet.”

“Not shell shock, is it?”

“No. I swear to you it isn’t shell shock.” That I could state with complete truthfulness.

She must have believed me. Ordering Sergeant Larimore below, she told him, “I’ll sort you out in a few minutes.”

“He’ll need something to eat,” I reminded her. “I don’t know when he last had a meal. He can’t remember.”

I followed him to the companionway, as if making sure he went below, saying to him in a low voice, “If there’s any trouble, send for me.”

“I’ll do that, Sister. Although I think I’ve earned the right to call you Bess now.” He grinned, cast a quick look around the empty deck, and then before I could stop him, he stooped and kissed me on the lips. Then he was gone.

I looked after him, hoping he’d be all right, and then carried the wriggling bundle in my arms off the ship and out of the port. Sophie was beginning to whimper, and I hurried to the Major’s motorcar, making what soothing sounds I could. The sun was well over the horizon by that time, winter bright and blinding as it created a golden path across the water.

What was I to do now? I asked myself as I turned the crank.

Where was I to take her? To my mother? To Vixen Hill?

I’d have been happy to pass the problem to my mother, who had the reputation of being able to cope no matter what was happening all around her. But this was, in a sense, my doing, for having unwittingly involved Sergeant Larimore.

The first order of business was to get as far from Dover as I could.

By the time I’d reached Canterbury, Sophie was wide eyed and staring around. I’d handled and looked after babies and small children during my training, and so I began to talk to her in French, smiling and asking her name, telling her mine. We counted to ten, and sang a little song. She bounced in time with the ruts of the road. When that palled, she made the sound of the motor, pretending there was a wheel in front of her and turning it this way and that, mimicking me. I don’t think she’d ever been in a motorcar before, and it fascinated her.

I stopped in a village not far from Chillingham and bought milk for her as well as a few biscuits. She drank the milk with an appetite, but I didn’t think she’d ever had biscuits, for she turned them this way and that, before I could persuade her to taste one of them. Then she was so enthralled she hummed to herself as she ate them.

Beyond Canterbury, the warmth of the sun in the motorcar made her eyes heavy, and her head flopped to one side as she fell asleep on the rug I’d wrapped around my shoulders the night before.

I knew better than to try to make her more comfortable. Instead I let her sleep.

And what in God’s name was I to do about the Major’s motorcar?

By the time we’d reached the Sussex border later in the afternoon, she was awake again, and complaining, more a whimper than a cry. Her mouth turned down, and her eyes looked so sad I could have picked her up and held her. Pulling to the verge, I turned to her.

The nuns and the other children were the only family this child had ever known, and she had been taken unceremoniously from them. But the fire must have frightened her and made the initial separation much easier.

Now she wanted familiar faces and familiar surroundings, and she began to cry in earnest, great tears rolling down her cheeks.

I lifted her into my lap and held her, feeling such guilt I could hardly bear it.

The last of the biscuits stopped the tears, and she looked at me with large, bewildered eyes before falling asleep on my shoulder. I put her carefully into the seat beside me before driving on.

Even with the best of intentions, there was no way to carry her back to France now. By this time Sergeant Larimore had already sailed, and I was already long overdue in Sussex.

I bought more milk for her just before crossing the Kent border into Sussex, and turned toward Ashdown Forest.

And I still didn’t know what I was to do with Sophie.

I didn’t even know the child’s last name.

S ophie was crying again, a forlorn little creature huddled in her blankets by the time we’d reached Hartfield, and my level of guilt had spun out of control. Night had fallen, and I was wondering how I could find my way through the heath.

I couldn’t go to The King’s Head. Arriving with a very young child would cause comment that would get back to the Ellis family almost overnight. And the explanations I would have to make would only add to the gossip.

I had no choice but to continue to Vixen Hill.

I was halfway there when Sophie fell into a restless sleep. It was just as well, because suddenly a motorcar coming out of a side track nearly cut me off.

I stopped quickly, throwing out an arm to keep the sleeping child from sliding off the seat.

By that time Inspector Rother was out of the motorcar and stalking toward me in my headlamps.

My heart sank.

“You do realize,” he said, “that you can be taken into custody after what you’ve done?”

“I’m so sorry, Inspector. I was under orders.”

“I doubt that. Where have you been, Miss Crawford?”

“To Dover,” I told him truthfully. “I’m a nurse, Inspector. I was needed, and I went. Now I’ve come back to Ashdown Forest to continue answering your questions.”

“I told you not to leave.”

“So you did. But this was a military matter, and not for my own pleasure. If you will telephone the port, the officer in charge, a Captain Wilson, will tell you that it was a matter of a man with a head injury who had to be identified and processed.”

That gave him pause, and it was still the absolute truth.

“And when did this summons come? Were you the only nursing sister available for this task?”

“I was the only one who could recognize him. As for how the summons came, a clerk from the inn came to Vixen Hill to tell me that there was an urgent message for me. He and I drove back to The King’s Head, I put through my telephone call-there are witnesses to that as well. I set out for Dover immediately with an Army officer. The woman at Reception can verify that.”

“At what time?”

“I don’t know the time. But I did see you walking toward Bluebell Cottage, and your constable, Constable Bates, even spoke to the clerk as we drove into Hartfield. I left some ten minutes later.”

“The Ellis family was not aware that you had left. They have been concerned. I have spoken to them.”

“Sadly, there was no way I could send a message to them.” But I’d left word at the inn. Had no one gotten it? “I would have spoken to you, but you were occupied with Bluebell Cottage. Did you find something significant there?”

“We went there to search for another body. See that you don’t take such liberties again,” he said gruffly, and turned back to his vehicle, leaving me to stare after him.