An Unmarked Grave

CHAPTER EIGHT

I SAW HIM coming out of the canteen, a cup of tea in his hand, grimacing as he drank it without sugar or milk.

I called, “You’re the new man, are you? Barclay?”

“I’m never going to learn to like tea,” he said plaintively, approaching me.

“Sorry. It’s all we have. There’s a shortage.”

“So I’ve heard.” He glanced around, then said swiftly, “Bess. You don’t know me.” With that, he walked off.

But wherever I was, it seemed that Captain Barclay-Barclay the orderly-was somewhere close by. He seemed oddly out of place to me in his khaki orderly’s tunic with the red cross on his sleeve. I’d seen him in his own uniform, and he wore it with an air that suited his rank. Still, everyone else took him in stride, and his attempts at rank-and-file humility were successful, although sometimes I caught a gleam in his eyes that belied them. Working with the wounded, to his credit he did the most menial task from emptying bloody basins to carrying away an amputated limb with the grim stoicism of a seasoned orderly. He’d been in the trenches, of course, he’d seen and dealt with worse, but it was not something anyone grew accustomed to, however hard the shell put up to keep one’s sanity in the face of such horrors.

I couldn’t help but think in the dark hours of the night that he’d appeared right on the heels of the attack on me. And then I’d remind myself that the Colonel Sahib had sent him, and the Colonel Sahib was seldom wrong in his judgment of a man’s character.

I could also see Dr. Gaines’s fine hand in all this. Captain Barclay had been pressing to return to his men, ready or not. This would be a lesson in a different kind of humility-forcing him to listen to his doctors.

In a way his presence was comforting. In the first place it freed me to work without looking over my shoulder. In the second, I’d been concerned about someone hovering, in my way at every turn. But apparently he’d been ordered to keep his distance, close enough to protect me but without being underfoot. I’d have given much to discover why my parents had turned to Captain Barclay as the safest choice to watch over me. He was, as I knew only too well, a very persuasive man. Still, his wound helped him carry off his charade. That must have carried some weight.

What little I learned about his “story” came in bits and pieces from others.

He was Canadian, had joined the British Army because he had been living in Britain when war was declared, but he was rejected because of a leg injury that refused to heal properly-hence his limp-and so he’d become an orderly instead. (His time in the clinic had given him a good background to make that believable. He talked about his duties there with the ease of experience.) He wasn’t married (this from Sister Clery), and his father was in the merchant marine-which was close enough to the truth. I asked where he lived, and I was told he’d been an orderly at Longleigh House in Somerset, had served in Dover, on several patient transport ships (which had aggravated his bad leg), and was now with us.

Dr. Gaines again, I thought. And he’d also been responsible for my own return to France.

Several evenings later, Dr. Hicks sent me to the Base Hospital for supplies-we’d been running short for three days, but he hadn’t been able to spare anyone. With a brief respite in the fighting-the guns were silent and lines of fresh troops were making their way to the Front to relieve those who’d endured a week of heavy shelling-we had only a trickle of new patients.

We took with us three badly wounded men who were due to be sent back for more treatment, and Barclay was assigned to drive.

It was a more or less uneventful journey, although once a nervous company of raw troops fired on us from a distance before their sergeant got them under control again, shouting at them in a Glaswegian accent that made half of what he was saying unintelligible.

We delivered our patients and saw to it the instructions accompanying them were duly signed for, then collected the list of desperately needed medicines, bandages, needles, sutures, and so on that Dr. Hicks had requested. An hour later, the ambulance carefully stocked, I got into the seat beside Captain Barclay after he’d turned the crank.

“Wait until we’re out of sight,” he said in a low voice, turning out of the racetrack and picking up the road to the Front.

And so I waited. Last night the sun had set in a blaze of gold and red, sliding behind a bank of deep purple clouds. Now it was pitch-dark without the flickering light of the shelling, and the only way we could be certain we were on what passed as a road were the wide swaths of deep ruts left behind by the lorries. Our blacked-out headlamps were woefully inadequate, casting shadows that only made it harder to judge anything in time to avoid another bone-wrenching jolt. About two miles out we spotted the single chimney and broken wall of a farmhouse. It had become a marker of sorts, and we all knew to watch for it. The rest of the village was little more than rubble, with no way of judging where the streets had been, much less the houses or shops that once had lined them. How this single chimney and wall had survived God alone knew.

The ambulance rocked and swayed over the debris, and I feared we would never extract it again just as Barclay turned off the motor and silence fell. I could have sworn I heard a cricket somewhere, it was so quiet.

“All right,” he said, turning to me, his face a pale mask in the darkness and oddly sinister. “I’m sorry there was no chance to explain before this. I was told I didn’t know you. I suspected the Sergeant-Major’s touch there. Necessity or precaution or jealousy.” The mask split into a white grin in the shadows.

“How is Simon?” I asked anxiously.

“I didn’t see him, to tell the truth.”

And that worried me. Surely if he were well enough, Simon would have been consulted.

“Then how did you become involved in this? What did they tell you? Dr. Gaines and my father?”

“Dr. Gaines had been sent for. He must have told your father that I’d accompanied you to Nether Thornton and then to the Gorge.”

“But you’d spoken to my father once. When I was sailing to France. You told him where to meet me.”

“That was sheer luck. Bess, I called the War Office. They found him, wherever he was, and passed on my message. Apparently they thought I was the Sergeant-Major. The Colonel had a few words to say about that when we spoke again.”

I could just imagine how annoyed my father was. The relationship with Simon was sacrosanct. He wouldn’t have appreciated Captain Barclay’s efforts, however well intentioned.

“At any rate, your father asked if I was fit enough for duty and if I’d take on a hazardous assignment. I was to report directly to him. Or if I couldn’t reach him, then to your mother.”

I’d told Simon about my companion on those journeys. Was it he who’d remembered?

“What did they tell you? How did they explain that I might be in danger?”

I still wasn’t prepared to trust this man.

“The Colonel told me the truth. At least I had the feeling he did.”

“What did they tell you?” I asked again, trying not to sound impatient.

“That someone had been murdered and you were the only witness who could testify to that. The trouble was, the killer knew you, but you couldn’t identify him as easily. That you were in danger. Well, by God, they were right. I heard about what happened just before I got there, and if I get my hands on that-on whoever it is, I’ll kill him myself.” The grin had disappeared like the smile of the Cheshire Cat, and I could feel the tension in the man across from me, a deep-seated anger that was like a flare of warmth in the ambulance.

“At any rate,” he went on after collecting himself, “when they spoke to me, I jumped at the chance. I’d rather be back with my men, but if that’s out of the question, I’ll use this assignment to prove that I’m ready to fight again.”

“Going over the top is not easy with a bad leg,” I said. “You know that as well as I do.”

“Yes, I can get others killed if I’m a burden,” he said impatiently. “That’s been brought home to me. But your father saw to it that I was given a background that wouldn’t make anyone suspicious. And your father asked me to give you this.”

He moved in the darkness and his hand stretched out toward me. In the palm lay the little pistol that Simon had given me once before. I recognized it immediately.

“My father? Not Simon himself?”

“I never saw the Sergeant-Major, Bess.”

I bit my lip. Once before I’d been afraid that bad news was being kept from me. I had that feeling again. Had Simon not lived to reach England? Had he lost that arm?

I looked down at the little pistol. Nurses were not permitted to carry weapons, but this time, remembering my feeling of helplessness when that arm had come around my throat and how lucky I was that I’d been able to kick the water pail, then scream, I touched it with my fingertips and then settled it carefully in the pocket of my uniform.

Captain Barclay was saying, “Better to wing him, Bess. Your father wants him alive.”

“But who is he?” I asked. “Why did he-what reason could he have for attacking me? I’ve never made an official report of any kind.” I wanted to know precisely how much my father had told the Captain.

“It appears he killed one Major Carson, who was in your father’s old regiment. And that he’s willing to kill again to protect himself. That woman. The one who lived near the Gorge. Apparently he’d killed her husband as well. The orderly who had discovered the Major’s body.”

Finally satisfied, I nodded. “He must be in the Army. He would have to be to reach the Major and then to attack me. One can’t simply take the next ferry across the Channel.”

“Yes, that was your father’s theory. They don’t know what rank he actually holds. But it’s easy enough out here to kill someone and steal a uniform. One unmarked grave more or less wouldn’t be noticed.”

But one couldn’t murder a Major without a flag going up. He’d be missed. A private soldier wouldn’t.

What’s more, whoever this was had been able to carry off the masquerade as Colonel Prescott. Both in person and in the contents of the letter he’d written Julia Carson. I wondered how many roles as a military officer William Morton had played on the stage. Shakespeare was filled with them, seventeenth- and eighteenth-century plays as well. Gilbert and Sullivan had created lively military characters. Productions had come out to India and were amazingly popular.

But then Matron had questioned Colonel Prescott’s manner-something had made her uneasy. Of course until I asked questions, Matron had kept her doubts to herself. Had I allayed her suspicions-or would she at some point bring them up with someone else?

Matron. I felt a chill. She’d seen his face. But he’d made no effort to harm her. Why? Had there been no opportunity? Or did he think she could wait?

Captain Barclay was adding grimly, “Something could have happened in the trenches between this man and Carson. Not everyone out here is a gallant soldier serving King and Country.”

I’d heard stories of shooting unpopular officers in the back when the opportunity presented itself. Charging across No Man’s Land is a chancy business at best, and it would be easy, firing at the enemy, to find one’s nemesis in the crosshairs.

If Sabrina had been cut off without a farthing when she married her actor, there could very well be hard feelings against Vincent for not doing more for her when the elder Carson died.

But Vincent hadn’t been shot in the back; his neck had been broken.

Captain Barclay gingerly climbed out and restarted the ambulance. “We’ve delayed long enough. They’ll begin to wonder, up ahead.”

The overworked motor coughed and struggled for several seconds before finally turning over properly. Captain Barclay reversed gingerly, the wheel jerking in his hands, and then we were safely back on what passed for a road. I stopped a sigh of relief, but I had a feeling he felt the same way.

We traveled in silence for a time.

I said, “Someone knew I was at the aid station. I don’t see how he could.”

“It shouldn’t be that difficult.” He turned to me in the darkness. “ ‘My sister’s at a forward aid station.’ Or ‘I served under Colonel Crawford before he retired. Is it true his daughter’s a nurse out here?’ Word gets around.”

And so it had last winter, when I’d asked for information about convents that took in French orphans. The answer had come back to me in the most unexpected way.

“Then I’m still at risk. But he won’t try to kill me at the aid station here. Not again. For one thing, I’m carefully watched. All the sisters are. But my next posting-or on the way to it-I’ll be vulnerable.”

“Quite. But I wouldn’t write off someone stopping this ambulance and killing both of us,” he said tightly.

I shivered at the thought, and touched the weight of the little pistol in my pocket. Simon had reminded me that it wasn’t of a caliber to kill or maim. But it was better than no protection, and it could make enough noise and cause enough pain to stop my assailant until someone came to my rescue.

With that thought in mind, when we had reached the station, I slept more soundly in what was left of that night.

Barclay was always in sight, wherever I was, and I wondered when or if he slept at all. He looked tired, and some of that I put down to his leg still being weak. His limp seemed to be worse, but he never complained.

Sister Clery, sitting down beside me as I ate a hasty dinner before returning to my duties, eyed me with interest. “I think,” she said after a moment, “that you have a beau. And he really is handsome, even though he’s not an officer. He ought to be. Perhaps there’s something mysterious in his past that prevented him from joining the Army under his own name.”

Realizing she was speaking of Barclay, I laughed. “He’s actually a rich American in disguise, and he followed me to France because I’ve refused his proposals of marriage nine times.”

She laughed with me. “I tell you, Bess, if that were true, I’d volunteer to mend his sad and broken heart myself.”

“Alas, I fear it’s beyond mending.”

“Ah, well. But I’ve noticed that everyone has been keeping an eye out for us. I don’t mind telling you, I was badly frightened when you were attacked.”

“Whoever he is, he’s well away from here now,” I assured her, and hoped that it was true.

New orders came for me before the week was out. Dr. Hicks informed me of them when he and I had finished working to stabilize an abdomen torn by shrapnel before taking the risk of sending the patient on to Rouen.

“I shall miss your steady hand and good eye,” he said. “But my loss is another station’s gain.”

“Thank you, sir.” And then, with a sense of foreboding, I asked, “Could you tell me who ordered my transfer?”

“I spoke to him by field telephone this morning. A Dr. Percy had requested you.”

I’d never worked with a Dr. Percy. “Was it Dr. Percy on the telephone?”

“No, no, I could hardly hear the Major, there was so much interference. But he confirmed you are to leave at once and the paperwork is to follow by the end of the week.”

“But that’s unusual, isn’t it?”

“True, but apparently they’re shorthanded outside of Ypres, and they can’t wait for the orders to come.” He studied my face. “Are you worried about this transfer, Sister Crawford?”

“I-yes, I must admit that I am,” I said, speaking frankly.

“I can assure you it was all straightforward. I made sure of that.”

“Could you try to reach Ypres and make certain that this was not a mistake?”

“Is it the attack on you that has made you so wary? My dear, you will probably be safer in your new posting than you are here, so close to the lines. I shouldn’t worry, if I were you.”

“Thank you, sir.” I couldn’t protest any more than I had.

Yet this was what I had dreaded-a new posting I knew very little about. I’d been sure Dr. Hicks would keep me, but someone had been insistent and convincing. I had no choice in the matter.

I went back to my tent, trying to think of a way to send word to my father. I’d seen Captain Barclay no more than an hour ago, but now he was nowhere to be found.

Troubled by his continued absence, on my first break I finished packing my possessions as ordered. If I could reach Rouen, surely I could find a way to contact the Colonel Sahib. But when I changed my apron, I made certain that the little pistol was in my pocket.

Outside I could hear the grumble of ambulance motors as they prepared to leave for the Base Hospital.

Just then Dr. Hicks came to say good-bye.

“Be safe, Sister Crawford. Did I tell you that there will be accommodations for you tonight at the American Base Hospital? Your transport to Ypres, as I understand it, will leave tomorrow morning from there.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Sister Clery also came to say good-bye, and several of the others who weren’t busy with the wounded. But still there was no sign of Captain Barclay.

Sister Clery, seeing me look around a last time before taking my seat, smiled and said, “I’ll tell him you’ll miss him, shall I?”

“Don’t bother,” I said, trying to convince myself that he had gone ahead to look into the transfer.

The ambulances followed the usual track, stopping at one other aid station to take on three more patients, and then finally, when my spine felt like a washboard, I could see the lights of Rouen ahead.

We discharged our patients, handed in the lists of names, and the drivers went away to hose down the ambulances.

I said to the sister in charge, “I’ve received a new posting, but the paperwork hasn’t come through. Oral orders for Ypres. I’m told you have a bed for me tonight.”

She glanced at my valise, then raised her eyes to my face. “Sister Crawford? I don’t think-let me look at the roster.”

My heart sank, but I smiled and waited patiently.

After a moment she shook her head. “No, sorry. There’s nothing here.”

I knew then that this was not an official transfer. “Do you have a bed? I don’t believe my transport leaves until tomorrow morning.”

Again she shook her head. “We’ve got no space, Sister. We had beds for eight hundred and we’ve got nearly sixteen hundred patients. I’ve moved in with another nurse myself, we’re that cramped. I’m so sorry.”

I put the best face on it I could.

“My transport expects to find me here tomorrow before dawn. Could you leave a message that I am in Rouen and will meet it on time?”

She wrote a message and clipped it on a board by her desk where there were some twenty or thirty others. “I won’t be on duty tomorrow, but the nurse who is will see the message. Will that do?”

I could tell she had more on her mind than dealing with my problems. But there was one more question I wanted to put to her.

“There’s one more thing,” I said with a smile. “I’m being sent to work with a Dr. Percy, near Ypres. I hear he’s something of a Tartar. Have you had any dealings with him or his patients?”

“Near Ypres? Most of those cases go directly to Dover.”

I could only push the matter so far. I thanked her and walked out of Base Hospital’s Reception.

So much for my attempts to find out anything useful. Communications were sketchy at best here in France. The military used runners and motorcycles when contact was imperative. Radio telephones were not always dependable. And so it wasn’t too surprising that someone here in Rouen wouldn’t know a doctor on the coastal sector of the Front. Unless of course he had a reputation that fed the rumor mill. I’d have to wait until morning and see what sort of transportation showed up.

Ordinarily I’d have sorted out the problem of where to spend the night without a second thought. Rouen was not a small town; it was a sizable city, and wandering about in it alone-something I’d done a dozen times before this-was no longer something I cared to do. Under the circumstances.

And what had happened to Captain Barclay? I’d convinced myself that he’d come ahead to prepare the way. After all, he could hardly openly desert his duties by leaving the aid station when I did. But there was no indication that he’d even reached the Base Hospital; otherwise he’d have left a message for me. Was he even in Rouen? Now I wondered if he was alive, because he took his duty to me seriously, and yet he had vanished without a word. What’s more, the ambulances that had brought me here had already pulled out for the Front, and there wasn’t even a possibility of sending word back to Dr. Hicks, much less getting his answer before I myself left the city.

I stood there on the street, thinking fast. Hotels were not the best choice for a woman alone. But there was one place I was assured of a bed: the convent I’d visited last winter and several times in the early spring before the influenza epidemic took hold.

I’d always brought something with me-money, medicines, soap, food-to help with the care of any ill or wounded children. This time I had only myself.

And so I found myself on the doorstep waiting for the porteress to answer the ring of the bell. The convent had little comfort to offer a stranger at their door, but they greeted me warmly and shared what they could.

The youngest nun came in quietly to wake me at three o’clock, and I dressed by candlelight in a room that held the night’s chill from the river. Then I slipped out into the predawn darkness to make my way back to where my transport should be waiting.

I wasn’t particularly frightened in the dark, narrow streets where the sounds from the docks echoed and the sporadic shelling at the Front was a counterpoint in the background. No one knew where to find me, and there was no one else about. It was too early for the milk wagon or the lorries bringing in foodstuffs from the outlying villages, too early for the ships to arrive from England with new recruits. I knew the city and could find my way without difficulty, only my own footsteps echoing.

I was within sight of the racetrack and the American Base Hospital, when I glimpsed the outline of a motorcar some thirty yards on the far side of the hospital entrance where summer bushes were thick and dark. My driver? Why hadn’t he halted under the lamps where I could see him better? But of course I was a little early. He was probably sleeping at the wheel after his long drive.

Still, I was uneasy. After all, I had no idea who he was, and I’d already decided to ask for some form of identification. If I wasn’t satisfied, I would have the Base Hospital verify that he’d come from Dr. Percy.

Should I wait where I was? I was vulnerable here, if the wrong person knew I was expecting to meet transport this morning-and even if the transfer was legitimate, in spite of the fact that no accommodations were waiting at the hospital, it would be the perfect opportunity to find me alone and unprotected.

Or approach?

What if the driver was already dead behind the wheel, so that he couldn’t raise the alarm if I didn’t die quietly?

For that matter, what if that motorcar wasn’t for me after all?

Standing there in the shadows of a building, I debated what to do. At this hour of the morning, it was easy to believe in danger of any kind, with my own breathing the only sound I could hear, and not even a bat swooping through the darkness to distract me from my thoughts.

I decided not to wait where I was but to move closer to the Base Hospital, where I could be heard if I had to scream. If all went well, there would be nothing to worry about. If it didn’t, I hoped I could count on help sooner. I’d taken only one step in that direction when there was a sharp movement just behind me. My valise was in my right hand, but before I could swing it at my assailant, it was snatched out of my grip. I was spun into the deeper shadow of a doorway, a rough hand over my mouth.

I realized in that instant that I had stepping unwittingly into a trap, that the motorcar had held my attention while the driver had come up behind me.

Biting down on the hand over my mouth, I began to fight.

I’d just managed to force my hand down toward the pistol in my pocket when a voice whispered savagely, “Damn it, Bess, if you kick me or shoot me, I’ll never take you to the Grand Hotel.”

Captain Barclay. I stopped struggling. He held me close for a moment until he was sure it wasn’t a trick.

As he let me go, I demanded angrily in a whisper of my own, “Did you have to frighten me like that? Why couldn’t you simply tell me who you were?”

“Because,” he said shortly, “you must not get into that motorcar. Or let the driver see you.”

He still had one arm around me, holding me in the shadows of the doorway. I didn’t know if the driver of the motorcar had seen me or not, or if he was even there. It was too hard to tell. It was still a quarter of an hour before I was to meet him, and it was possible that he had gone into a café for coffee to keep himself awake.

“Who is he?” I asked, keeping my voice low. “Did you see him? For that matter, where have you been?”

“It was more important to watch for you and stop you-look! He’s just coming out of that alley across the way. Pay attention to his manner of walking. Do you recognize him?”

But the man who had just appeared was hurrying away, coughing once or twice, as if he had been ill. He disappeared into the darkness beyond, with only a last cough to tell us where he had gone.

“I don’t think-that can’t be him. How long have you been here? Do you know if he’s inside the motorcar?”

“It was there when I got here. I’ve been watching it. Nothing.”

“Then let me go. I won’t get in, I promise you. But it’s important to get a good look at him. We may not have another chance.”

“No. That’s not safe. Bess, I’m no match for him right now!”

“I have the pistol.”

“No, I tell you. It isn’t worth the risk. Wait. See if he shows himself. He’ll grow impatient. He might even walk as far as those lamps by the Base Hospital.”

But he didn’t. Where was he?

As I heard the clock in a nearby church tower strike four, I broke away from Captain Barclay’s clutches and stepped out into the street. Walking sedately toward the motorcar, I took my time. I could now see that one wing was dented, but that not surprising. Most of the motorcars anywhere near the Front were dented and rusty. When I was some ten or fifteen feet away, I stopped, looking around, as if expecting to find my driver.

“Hallo?” I called after a moment. “Anyone there?” I took a step or two nearer the bonnet, and then-apparently uncertain-I turned and took four back the way I’d come. This gave me a chance to look around me, scanning doorways and the windows of a café just down the street without appearing to be suspicious.

I was almost facing the motorcar again when, without any warning at all, out of the corner of my eye I saw movement behind the windscreen, as if someone had been lying out of sight across the seats. In the same instant the great, bright headlamps came on, their black paint gone, and I was pinned in their glare, startled and unable to see or move.

But I could hear the motor as it was gunned, and the headlamps were speeding toward me.

Behind me I heard Captain Barclay shout, but I knew that if I moved too soon, the driver behind the glare of the lights could see where I was leaping, and compensate.

I almost left it too late.

Prepared to spring to the left, where I had the whole street in which to maneuver, I realized that he too could use that space to swerve toward me. And so without hesitating, I flung myself right, into the ragged line of unkempt shrubbery that marked that side of the road.

He swerved too, just as I had feared, but in this direction he had no room-he dared not come too close to the shrubbery, or at that speed he’d lose control and crash into it. Still, he cut it close. I felt the force of his passage, the leading edge of the rusted wing brushing my hip, catching my apron, and nearly dragging me under the rear wheels before the cloth ripped and freed me. I cried out, catching at the prickly, scrubby branches of the shrubs to keep my balance.

The pistol was in my pocket, and I scrabbled for it, trying to reach it in the folds of my uniform, but I already knew it would be impossible to bring it out in time to fire at my tormentor. All the same, I was frightened and angry enough to do just that.

I twisted to take a hard look at him. But his face was half covered by a muffler, a dark striped length of woolen cloth that must have been hot this time of year. All I could see were his eyes.

Matron had said they were gray. But in the reflected light of the lamps, I couldn’t be sure. For they gleamed so palely it was almost as if there were no eyes at all under dark, heavy brows.

A very pale blue? A clear gray like lake water in moonlight?

And then he was gone, roaring off down the street, narrowly missing Captain Barclay, who was already rushing toward me as fast as he could.

It was in the light of the headlamps that I saw Captain Barclay clearly for the first time.

He was disheveled, his uniform torn and bloody.

I hadn’t asked him why he had disappeared, but now I had a feeling that I knew.

Captain Barclay reached me, pulling me out of the shrubbery, brushing at my coat where leaves and twigs had caught, all the while cursing me in words as vivid as any I had ever heard in the Army.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded in the next breath. “Were you trying to get yourself killed? Damn it, Bess Crawford, that was the most brazenly foolish thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.”

“But I had to see his face. I had to be sure. And he has gray eyes, Captain, just as Matron had said he did. Or very pale blue. I could see them above the muffler. You can change a good many things, but not the color of your eyes. What’s more, I wasn’t entirely convinced he was inside the motorcar. He could have killed my driver and waited for me somewhere nearby. Just as we were concealed in the shadows! When he came out he’d have to face me, and I’d have had a clearer view of him. Even a clear shot, if need be.”

He shook me, his hands gripping my shoulders. “And he nearly killed you. A few inches closer, and he could have hurt you badly. If you’d slipped, you’d have been under his wheels. I couldn’t believe you would do anything so rash. Your father warned me you were headstrong, but I never dreamed-”

He released me suddenly and I nearly stumbled into him before I got my balance again. “Come on,” he said, and taking my arm firmly enough to keep me by his side, he started walking. “It isn’t a good idea to stay here. He could decide to swing back this way. And I’ve told you I’m in no shape to do battle.”

We walked as quickly as we could down the street, then at the first corner took the next street and then the next. We finally came to a small church in a cul-de-sac, and he strode toward the door. Finding it open, we went inside, greeted by the smell of musty walls, incense, and stone. Cold and dark as it was, I felt vulnerable, even though I knew logically that there was no possible way we could have been followed here. As my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, I could make out the baptismal font, a line of pillars leading down to the altar, and the faint glow of the altar lamp. All of them familiar things that pushed away my initial anxiety.

Captain Barclay found a row of chairs and we sat down. Wincing, he thrust one leg out in front of him, as if it ached unbearably.

“Are you badly hurt?” I asked after a moment, and saw him shake his head. “What happened? Where were you? I looked for you before I left the aid station.”

“He was clever. I never saw the blow coming. The next thing I knew, I was out in the middle of nowhere, near one of the relief trenches. I fell into one of them while I was still dazed, then had to make my way back. You had already gone, and I set out on foot for Rouen. I got a lift from a lorry coming back from the Front, carrying the dead. I’ve been waiting there for you, in the shadows of that doorway, for hours. I saw the motorcar arrive, and I went on waiting, knowing you had to come. Where were you? They told me at the Base Hospital that you weren’t given a room there.”

“I’d been told they were expecting me, but they weren’t. I stayed in a convent I know of.”

“Well, at least you were safe. For all I knew…” He shook his head helplessly.

“What are we to do now? I’m supposed to report to an aid station south of Ypres, but if what’s happened here in Rouen is any indication, they have no reason to expect me there. And I don’t have the proper authorization to return to Dr. Hicks. Or to leave France.”

He was still nursing his grievance. “I couldn’t believe you’d gone away without waiting for me. It could have been a hoax. In fact it was. A trick to lure you away from the protective Dr. Hicks. To Rouen, for instance, where if anything happened to you, you wouldn’t be missed straightaway.”

“Yes, but there was the message.”

“Anyone who knew how to use a field telephone could have sent that,” he scoffed.

“Dr. Hicks assured me the request was genuine. I asked him. He’d spoken to an officer, he said. And so I didn’t have much choice, except to leave with the convoy. When there was no room waiting at the Base Hospital, I couldn’t turn back. It was too late.” I shook my head and felt my hair tumbling down. Quickly putting it up again, I said, “I shall have to get word to my father.”

“It’s more urgent to get you back to England. Bess, you can’t stay in France. Don’t you see? One attack can be put down to luck on his part. Two? A damned close call. Let’s not wait for three.”

I was reminded of Simon telling me that he was superstitious enough not to want to see me come close to dying a third time.

Captain Barclay was saying, “I thought I could protect you. I even told your father that I could. But I was wrong. Falling into that trench was the last straw.”

“I don’t want to go home to England. If I do, whoever this is will slip away and we’ll never find out why he killed Major Carson.”

“I don’t know that it’s important to find out,” Captain Barclay said wearily. “Not if it puts you in danger like this.”

“If I could find a way to return to Dr. Hicks and tell him that the message he received was only a ruse, he’d be happy to keep me there. And I’d be safer there than anywhere else. The only alternative is to go on to Ypres and let them decide what should be done about me.”

“England, Bess. For your own sake. Or if not for your sake, then for your father’s.”

I sat there, trying to think. If I went to Ypres, whoever was out there would know where to look for me. If I returned to the forward aid station that I’d just left, he’d still know.

Perhaps it would be wiser to go to England, after all. Out of reach. But it went against the grain to see a murderer go free. To leave the patients I believed I could help. I had the sinking feeling that I’d be letting down not only Major Carson but Private Wilson and his wife as well.

What was that old saying?

He who turns and runs away lives to fight another day.

All very well and good. But if I ran away, who would I find to fight on that other day?

If the man with those pale eyes couldn’t find me, then I couldn’t find him. Could I?