An Unmarked Grave

CHAPTER SIX

I REALLY DIDN’T know how to respond to the news. It was what I had wanted from the moment in Eastbourne when I felt well enough to consider my future.

Had Simon pulled strings to make this possible?

I couldn’t imagine my mother and father having a change of heart.

And what was I to tell them, when these orders hadn’t been any of my doing?

I went to Matron, to speak to her about my concerns, but when I broached the subject, she smiled warmly. “Ah. I see they’ve come through. I didn’t wish to say anything until we could be sure. We shall be very sorry to lose you, my dear, but Dr. Gaines spoke to me, and I must say, I agreed with him. You should be in France, not here. And so he wrote to the proper people, expressing his feelings in the matter, and I am glad to learn that they decided in your favor.”

I could only sit there, stunned.

It was as if a godmother in a fairy tale had granted a fervent wish, but left the recipient to deal with the aftermath of that wish being granted.

“You seem surprised, Sister Crawford. I should have thought you would be delighted by such news.”

“I am,” I told her truthfully. “I-it’s just that I’m not sure how to break it to my father.”

“He’s been a serving officer all his life. He’ll understand the importance of duty, if anyone does,” she said bracingly. “Now to particulars. You’ll finish the week with us, take three days of leave to visit your family and prepare for this posting, and then report to France.”

It occurred to me that I had promised Julia Carson that I would come to see her again, and now there would be no opportunity.

“I’m very grateful, Matron. It’s such a surprise, it will take some time to get used to.”

The smile returned. “Of course. And I needn’t ask you not to tell your patients until the last day. We find that staff leaving often unsettles them.”

“I’ll say nothing,” I promised.

But where was Simon, and what would he think when he came here to see me after finishing whatever it was that had taken him to London, only to find me out of reach? And how would I learn whatever it was he might have discovered, given the censorship of the post to and from France?

There was another worry. Would I be in danger? But no one knew what I suspected. At least I hoped no one knew except for Simon and Private Wilson’s widow.

Changing the subject, Matron was now discussing a patient, and I forced my thoughts back to the present.

When I was dismissed, I knew I should seek out Dr. Gaines at once and thank him for his intercession. Instead I went outside to the park where Simon and I had spoken privately, and as I walked I tried to think.

I couldn’t turn down my orders. They had been cut, and even the Colonel Sahib, as my mother and I called him, would find it difficult to cancel them now. I should have to make the best of it, go to France and do what I did so well: help save lives.

I met Dr. Gaines as I was walking back to the house. He’d come in search of me, and he said as I approached, “There you are. Matron tells me your orders have been cut.”

“Yes, thank you, Dr. Gaines, it was very kind of you.”

“Nonsense. You’re a good nurse. Now come inside and we’ll unwrap that leg and have a look. Tell me what you think.”

He was being polite, of course. But I went with him and the Lieutenant’s leg was looking much better. We cleansed it again and put on fresh bandages. Dr. Gaines nodded to the owner of the leg, who had been watching us with such anxiety that my heart went out to him. A Yorkshireman, he said little, but his eyes spoke for him. “You’ll keep it, Lieutenant, and live to fight another day. If you follow instructions for the next few weeks.”

We made rounds, looking at Captain Scott’s damaged shoulder, Lieutenant Fraser’s badly fractured hand, Major Donovan’s shrapnel-shattered hip, and a dozen more cases the doctors were watching closely. When we’d finished, I was released from duty and allowed to go up to my room.

Halfway to the stairs, I encountered the American. He said without preamble, “You’re leaving.”

“You shouldn’t be listening at doors,” I informed him. “You seldom hear the truth.”

“It’s something in your face,” he said. “Never mind, I’ll be back in France before you know it. Keep watch for me.”

“Captain. Don’t be silly. You’ll lose that leg if you aren’t more careful. How many times does Dr. Gaines have to warn you?”

“I know. I have an incentive now to take my exercises seriously. And,” he added with a gleam in his eye, “Simon Brandon will still be in England.”

Without waiting for me to reply, he hobbled away.

Dr. Gaines himself drove me home when the time came. I was rather surprised by that, but then I remembered what I had told him about going back to France. I expect he felt that his presence would in some fashion soften the blow for my parents.

I hadn’t called to warn my parents that I was coming. I saw my mother’s face as she opened the door and found us standing there. The succession of emotions touched my heart. Surprise. Fear. Anger. Resignation. They were all there. I presented Dr. Gaines, and she took us to the drawing room, rather than to her sitting room, a measure of her feelings. But she was politeness itself, apologizing for the fact that the Colonel Sahib was away at the moment, asking the doctor about the clinic, and carefully channeling the conversation away from the reason for my being there.

Finally, when there was nothing else to be said, Dr. Gaines cleared his throat and told my mother precisely what had happened and why.

She didn’t argue with him. Instead she thanked him with apparent sincerity and asked if he’d care to stay for dinner.

“Alas, no, I have my evening rounds, and I shall be late for them as it is. But thank you for your kindness.” He turned to me and wished me well. “Write to us if you will. I know that Matron, the staff, and the patients who know you will be delighted to hear how you are faring. And one patient in particular who asked me only this morning to find a reason to keep you at Longleigh House.”

I smiled in return. “I shall,” I promised. And with that, and a last glance at my mother, he was gone.

She closed the door behind him and said, “Well. As I have always said, things have a way of working out.”

“I didn’t ask Dr. Gaines to intercede,” I assured her.

“Darling, I know. And he made that quite clear, so that there would be no doubt in our minds.” She put her arm around my shoulders and pulled me close for a moment. “Love sometimes sees the future crookedly. It tries to convince us we know what’s best. When the call came from France-it was that Australian of yours. Sergeant Larimore. I don’t quite know how he learned that you might be dying, but he felt someone would wish to be with you at the end-I couldn’t quite think what to do. Your father was in London, he wouldn’t be home for another four-and-twenty hours, and I didn’t have the proper papers to allow me to go to France on my own. Simon had just landed in Dover, and so we sent him to you. I don’t know what mountains he and your father moved to make it possible for him to go at once. When he got word to us that you would live, it was a miracle. As if God had granted us a reprieve at the last possible moment when all hope had gone. It took some time to recover from that shock. Perhaps we were wrong to want to keep you safe in England, but we too had to heal.”

I hadn’t known all this. I had assumed that ill as I was, and being the Colonel’s only child, I’d been sent back to England to recover properly.

I had attended Sergeant Larimore in the winter, when he was wounded, and because of him I had learned firsthand how swiftly word could travel at the Front. I felt a rush of gratitude for what he’d done.

It was a measure of my parents’ fear that no one had told me until now. As if it would bring back for them what must have been long, terrifying hours of not knowing.

If I had been in France and was told that one of my parents was dying, I would have felt much the same helplessness. And so I could understand. Indeed, there had been a fortnight when I had had no news and feared the worst.

“We must consider what to have for dinner,” she said bracingly, changing the subject before we were both brought to tears. “I was planning to dine alone, and now here you are. Let’s talk to Cook and see what’s possible.”

I left Somerset before my father came back from whatever mission had taken him away this time. My mother made the best of what she must have considered to be a bad bargain and sent me off with freshly ironed uniforms, a packet of sandwiches, and her love, as she’d always done.

When I reached Portsmouth after a long and wearing journey on the train, shunted from siding to siding as troop trains hurtled through, given precedence, I was walking through the dark and crowded port to find my own transport when I saw a tall figure in uniform making his way toward me.

It was my father, calling to me as he recognized me, enveloping me in an embrace that expressed, more than anything, his belief that he wouldn’t be in time.

“There you are!” he said. “I’ve moved heaven and earth-and more to the point, the War Office-to get here before you sailed, and I thought I’d missed you in spite of everything.”

“How did you know?” I asked. “Did Mother reach you?”

“Someone from the Canadian Army reached me. He told me where to find you.”

That ridiculous American, I thought, hoping to stop me from leaving by summoning my father to meet me here.

But I was wrong about his motives.

My father was saying, “God knows how he found out where I was. I am most grateful he did. Of course I shall most likely be sent to the Tower for leaving London so precipitously. He must know people in very high places. Perhaps he will also arrange my pardon.”

I laughed, as I was intended to do. “I never told him that you were away. I wasn’t aware of it myself until Mother told me.”

“You know him, then, do you? This Canadian?”

“It’s a long story. And he’s an American serving with the Canadian forces. I can’t think why he should even guess where or how to find you.”

Somewhere down the quay a blast of a ship’s horn, muffled but still loud in the damp night air, reminded me that I hadn’t yet located my transport.

“Look, there isn’t much time. Simon told me about Vincent Carson. I don’t want you involved with this business, Bess. Leave it to us. I have ways of finding out what we need to know about this Colonel of his. And if I can track down his grave, I can ask to have the body exhumed in the hope of discovering the cause of death. Are you quite certain that his journal wasn’t there when you found him?”

“He’d been stripped of his uniform, and there was no way to know even what rank he held or in what regiment. The burial detail would have no choice but to put him in a grave marked UNKNOWN. What’s more, there were no possessions to be sent to his family. If I hadn’t recognized him when Private Wilson showed me the body, no one would have known the truth. We’d have believed he’d died in the trenches, just as it was reported.”

The Colonel winced at that. “And as far as Simon could discover, Private Wilson never officially reported finding the Major’s body. Which means if he did speak to someone else, it cost him his life. Listen to me. If anyone approaches you, trying in any way to discover what you know-even someone you believe you can trust-send word at once but let them believe your high fever erased any memory of what happened the evening you fell ill. Ignorance will keep you safe, my dear. Remember that.”

“Yes, I understand,” I told him, and only a few minutes later, he was waving to me from the quay while I stood by the rail, watching until the crowded docks blocked him from view.

Why had Simon chosen to tell the Colonel Sahib about Vincent Carson’s death?

There hadn’t been time to ask, but I could think of two reasons-Simon needed my father’s authority to open doors shut to him.

Or he was going into danger and felt that the time had come to protect me by bringing my father into the picture. Pray God this was not the reason. But it had been too long since last I heard from him, and in ordinary circumstances he would have found a way to get in touch.

And it worried me as well that Captain Barclay had reached my father. Even my mother had had no idea where he was.

Although I was offered a cabin, I had too much on my mind to rest. And so I remained at the rail of The Mermaid, a former ferry turned transport ship, and watched the long, dark shape of the Isle of Wight slip by in the night. The wind was unseasonably cold, coming off the water, and I looked up at the bridge to see the watch scanning the seas for German raiders. All lights were out, and the only sounds beside the wind were the engines, a deep and reassuring throb.

I was not the only recovered invalid on board. A good few officers and other ranks I saw on deck were in my opinion still too pale and too thin to return to active duty. But there was that other driving force a soldier understood only too well: the need to be there with those he’d had to leave behind for the duration of his recovery. I read it there later in the intensity of their gaze watching for the first faint blue haze that was France looming on the horizon. The determination not to let the side down, even if it meant dying with them.

Someone found a chair for me, and I sat there, waiting patiently for the journey to end. I was not going back to the hospital where the body of Vincent Carson had been discovered by Private Wilson. Still it was possible for me to get there if I looked for the opportunity. Patient transfers, picking up supplies-there was always traffic of some sort between forward aid stations and those behind the lines.

And then the buffeting of the Channel ceased, and we were moving up the Seine, our destination Rouen. I stood at the rail, picking out landmarks. Gripping my valise, I watched men on the quay bringing The Mermaid in close and tying her up. Then we were ordered to prepare for disembarkation, troops to report in companies. One of the officers nodded to me, indicating I should be among the first to land. But the way had no more than been cleared when the tall, fair Australian who’d contacted my mother appeared out of nowhere, coming up the gangway in long, swift strides to enclose me in a huge embrace, swinging me off my feet.

“You’re alive. I had to see it for myself,” he said. “Your mother, bless her, is a rare lady.”

Laughing, I commanded him to put me down.

Behind me, an English officer said angrily, “I’ll have you on report for that, Sergeant.”

Sergeant Larimore set me down, turned to him, and said blandly, lying through his teeth, “She’s my English cousin, sir.” And then leaning closer to whisper in my ear, he said, “I’m that glad you’re alive, my lass. I couldn’t contemplate a world without your shining face. Now I know you’re safe, I must report to my unit. I’ve been on leave without permission for the past two days, watching for you.”

And he was gone, disappearing into the crowded quayside before I could say a word or ask him who had told him I was even sailing to France.

It must have been my mother. The American didn’t know about Sergeant Larimore.

“Cousin, indeed,” snorted the officer behind me.

“Alas, sir, the black sheep,” I replied. With that I nodded to the ship’s officer and walked sedately off The Mermaid and into Rouen.

I was back in France at last. As I made my way toward the American Base Hospital, where I was to meet my convoy, I could hear the guns in the distance. Someone jostled my shoulder, apologized in rough French, and another man, appearing to be in a great hurry, brushed past me, nearly causing me to drop my valise. I realized all at once how vulnerable I was, alone in a city of this size. I hadn’t really taken thought to the danger I might be in until now, where I was surrounded by people on their way to market or the port or the waiting trains. I didn’t know the face of my enemy, if he was that. But it occurred to me that I could disappear here, and even my father, with all his authority, couldn’t find me in the muddy bottom of the river.

I was glad to see my next transport waiting just beyond the port-an ambulance packed with supplies to replace the depleted stocks of aid units closer to the Front. The driver was someone I didn’t know, a taciturn man who told me his name was Sam and we were late already, Sister, so don’t dawdle, please, Miss.

I took the seat beside the driver, my valise tucked into a tiny space in the back, and we set out, steadily moving north as the roads, the traffic, and the terrain allowed. I asked what news he had of the war, and he said, “The Germans are winning all along the line. That’s what it feels like, Sister, when I drive the dying here.”

It was a bleak assessment, and I hoped that it was wrong. The Americans were supposed to be turning the balance toward the Allies. We fell silent and I watched the trains of mules and guns and columns of troops making their way toward the shooting, and the line of wounded being transported to the rear in Rouen. There had been heavy rain the day before, according to Sam, and the roads were a morass. We bumped and jerked and skidded over them until my head was beginning to ache from all the jolting. There was nothing for it but to endure.

At length we were close enough to the trenches that in the darkness I could actually see the muzzle flashes. The noise was deafening. When we reached the aid station, I could pick out the long line of wounded standing or lying on stretchers outside the nearest tent, and a doctor with a haggard face looked up anxiously as he heard the rumble of the ambulance coming in, and then shouted to me, “Hurry!”

There was no time to find my tent or change my clothes. I left my coat and valise in a corner, borrowed an apron from someone, and began to sort the cases as they arrived. The driver was offloading supplies, and hands were reaching for bandages and septic powder almost as quickly as they were unpacked.

Hours later, when I was finally replaced, I walked out into the pale light of another dawn.

Working those long hours had cost me dearly, for my parents were right, I wasn’t at full strength yet. The clinic had been almost too easy, with its regular hours and quiet evenings. And now, too tired to sleep, I nursed a cup of tea in the cool of sunrise and considered the problem of finding the elusive Colonel Prescott.

I could hardly go about asking officers who came to the aid station if they had served under him. I knew too well how quickly word got around.

Whoever he was, how could he have known when he wrote that glowing letter to Julia that Major Carson was dead, unless he had had something to do with whatever had happened? Why else would he have written it, except to allay worry at home? It had sounded genuine enough, compassionate, sympathetic. And of course it had had to sound that way, in order not to arouse suspicion. After all, Julia Carson had the regiment behind her, and my father, once its Colonel, as well. If the Major simply disappeared, questions would be raised.

And then there were the men under the Major. What had they been told?

I was to have my answer to that a few days later.

We had been busy all morning and well into the afternoon. Then there were a few blessed minutes of grace, and I went to my quarters to change my bloody apron for a fresh one when a woman’s voice called my name. I turned to see Diana hurrying toward me.

Because our own homes were scattered across England, four other nurses and I had taken a flat together in Mrs. Hennessey’s London house, converted to flats for the duration of the war. A widow, Mrs. Hennessey was strict with her young ladies, and it was a comfort to know that we were in good hands when one of us arrived late at night, tired and thankful not to have to find an hotel or face a longer journey elsewhere when we had scarcely twenty-four hours of leave.

Diana threw her arms around me, crying, “I can’t believe it’s you! Bess? We were so worried. When your mother wrote to say you were recovering, I was afraid to open the letter for two days.” She scanned my face. “Still a little tired, I see. I was afraid you might come back too soon.”

I held her at arm’s length. “You’re absolutely blooming yourself.”

She blushed a little. “Bess, wish me happy! I’ll be married this time next year. I wasn’t sure you’d seen the announcement in the Times.”

“But that’s tremendous news. I wish you both a glorious life together. You deserve it.”

“Thank you. I’m so grateful you didn’t want him for yourself. You could have had him, you know.”

I laughed. “Diana. The instant he saw you, I was forgotten. Love at first sight, if ever I witnessed such a thing. And how are the others? Mrs. Hennessey?”

“She is flourishing, Mary is back in France after her bout with influenza, and the others are due for leave any day now.”

“I’m so glad.”

“Your family? My dearest Simon?”

It was a long-standing joke between us. Simon sometimes took her to dinner when I wasn’t in London, and Diana swore he did it to make me jealous. And I could see that she thoroughly enjoyed those invitations. Perhaps more so than she had been willing to admit until another man had come into her life. “They’re well, thank goodness.” I hoped it was true in Simon’s case. I was still waiting for word.

We exchanged news of other friends, and then Diana said, “Wasn’t Major Carson in your father’s regiment?”

Surprised to hear her bring up his name, I replied warily, “Yes, indeed. In fact, I called on Julia Carson, just before I returned to France.”

“What I’m about to tell you won’t be for her ears, but the Colonel might wish to know. There’s a whisper going around. That he’s deserted.”

She was using the present tense. As if she hadn’t heard that Vincent Carson was dead. My shock must have been reflected in my face. “I-I can’t imagine such a thing. Major Carson? No, there must be some mistake…” I let my voice trail off, encouraging her to go on.

“The story I overheard was that he was pulled from his sector for a special assignment and never made his rendezvous.”

“Good heavens.” It was all I could think to say. Collecting my wits, I added, “He-he’s such a very conscientious man. There’s even talk that one day he’ll follow my father as Colonel. I can’t think what would cause him to desert.”

“Yes, well, you know how gossip is. The only thing I could think of was shell shock, and that he has no idea who or where he is. I met him at that dinner party your mother gave just after war was declared. If he hadn’t already been married to Julia, I’d have set my cap at him.”

“The two of you would never suit,” I said drily, grateful she’d changed the subject.

“True. Well, I must drive an ambulance to Rouen. The man who should be doing it collapsed two hours ago. Pneumonia. And then I have ten days’ leave. I could fly to Dover at the very thought.”

I said quickly, “Could you carry a message for me? If I was quick about it? I don’t want it going through the censors.”

“A love letter? Bess, who is the lucky man? I’d heard there was an Australian in your life. Is he history now?”

“This is to Simon. I have to get information to him and have been racking my brain to find a way.”

“I have less than two minutes.”

“Yes, of course.” I ran to my quarters, scrabbled in my valise for pen and paper and an envelope, then scribbled what Diana had told me on the sheet. There was no time to reread it. I sealed it in the envelope and wrote the direction on it, praying that he would be at his cottage to receive it. If he wasn’t, my parents always collected his post in his absences, so that no one would realize he was away so often.

Breathless, I hurried back to Diana, gave her the letter, and watched her drive off with her usual care for the patients in the back, one of them the regular driver.

Quickly changing, I went back to my duties, regretting only that Diana and I had had so little time together. I’d have liked to hear more about her wedding plans and remind her that I would like to be included in the wedding party.

I was dazed with fatigue when I finished my shift, and collapsed on my cot, falling into a deep sleep.

Toward morning I dreamed that I had gone into the shed where the dead were taken to look for Major Carson, anxious to find his body before the charge of desertion was brought against him. Certain that if I could show his broken neck to his commanding officer, I could clear his name. But what I found instead was Private Wilson hanging there, his body already limp in death, his face gorged with blood, making him nearly unrecognizable. I’d had to peer at him, and as the corpse swung at the end of the rope, his hand touched me and I screamed.

Sister Colter said, “Really, Bess, you told me to wake you at six.”

I came awake with a start, looking up at her. “I’m so sorry,” I managed to say. “I must not have heard you calling me.”

“You were so deeply asleep you wouldn’t have heard a cavalry charge,” she agreed, and was gone, leaving me to wash my face and put on my uniform.

I was still shaken by the dream as I gulped a cup of tea, then hurried to deal with the line of men waiting for attention.

There was still no response from Simon by the end of the week, and I wasn’t sure where he was. A letter had come from my mother, letting me know that everyone was well, and there had been no mention of Simon being away so long. Either he was at home and safe, or she was being circumspect.

And then the next morning as I walked into the surgical tent, I saw his tall figure just ahead of me.

Simon was making his way down the row of severely wounded men, stopping at each cot, speaking quietly to the men who were conscious, simply looking down at the ones who were not. When he reached the end of the line, he turned back and saw me.

According to my mother, both Simon and my father visited the wounded often, and without fanfare, wherever they happened to be.

There was something about both men that made them popular wherever they went, and their compassion for the ill and the dying was infinite. They had been soldiers with impressive records themselves, but it went beyond that. War seemed to forge a brotherhood that made someone like Captain Barclay claim he was healing even when it was a lie. Even when he knew that going back to France might well end in his own death.

I watched as Simon had a word for each man, making one or two of them smile, and he offered comfort to those who were suffering in grim silence.

I waited until he came up to me. Nodding, he said, “Outside?”

I followed him into a dusk lit by artillery flashes. Once or twice, I could see bursts of machine-gun fire. He turned his back to that, saying, “I must be brief. I’m supposed to be in Dover. I got your message. It seems that orders came down from HQ to send Carson as liaison to the French forces. He must never have reached the meeting with his opposite number-but the odd thing is, whoever that was, he never reported Carson missing. What’s more, no one can be certain where the order originated. The signature is a scrawl.”

“That explains how his murderer got to him, doesn’t it?” I responded softly. “Once out of the lines, following a guide he didn’t know, he could have been lured to his death. But why? Why kill Major Carson?”

“There are bodies and wounded men everywhere. No one notices one more.”

“Private Wilson did. And was killed because of it.”

“I want you to make a list, as comprehensive as you can, of everyone who was in and out of that aid station.”

“Simon, do you realize how impossible that is?” I expostulated.

“I don’t mean the dead and dying. Orderlies who were there for a week or more are not likely candidates either, and a Sister couldn’t break Carson’s neck. He was too strong, too tall.”

“Private Wilson would have known such things.” I shut my eyes. Searching faces in my memory. After a moment I shook my head. “I may not have seen him. This killer has no face so far,” I said finally. “I’ll keep trying, but it’s a needle in the proverbial haystack.”

“And possibly the only lead we’ll have.”

He touched my shoulder in a comradely gesture. “Take care, Bess, whatever you do. I don’t want to have to explain to your mother how it was you got hurt.”

And then he was gone, disappearing into the night.

When the next ambulances went south with wounded who could be moved, I asked if I could be the nurse in charge. Dr. Hicks looked at me, said, “You could use a few hours of respite,” and it was arranged.

I rode in the last ambulance, prepared to do what I could if we were forced to stop and attend to one of the men. It was a hard, jolting ride through mud and craters and ruts deeper than most axles, and was warm enough for the miasma to rise and envelop us with the unforgiving smells of the battlefield. I held on for dear life to avoid being shaken to death. But we reached our destination without mishap, blessedly everyone still alive.

Here was where I’d fallen so ill. Here was where Private Wilson had died. Had the staff changed? How many of them had survived?

I felt a wave of relief when I saw that Matron was the same woman I’d served with. She would be able to tell me about Private Wilson. After I’d turned my charges over to her, she invited me to her room for a cup of tea.

I hadn’t expected the rush of emotion that I’d felt as the aid station had come into view. I couldn’t help but wonder if matters would have been very different if my collapse had come an hour, even two, later and I’d had an opportunity to speak to her about what Private Wilson had shown me in the shed. Would he be alive now? Or would I simply have put Matron at risk too?

I tapped at her door, was admitted, and offered a chair.

“I can’t tell you how good it is to see you healthy once more,” she said warmly. “You gave us a terrible fright, you know.” In the lamp’s light I could see how worn she looked, and how tired.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’ve read about the great plagues of history,” she said. “I never dreamed I would experience one. We lost so many good people.”

“Did Private Wilson survive?” I asked, and immediately felt a surge of guilt for letting her assume I knew nothing about his death. “He handled so many bodies. I often wondered.”

“Haven’t you heard, my dear? He’s dead.”

“I wasn’t told,” I answered, which was true-I’d asked Simon to find out what had become of him. “He was always ready to do whatever we asked. Such a good man. Was it a lingering death or a kind one?”

Frowning, she said, “Odd that you should ask.” She looked down at the chart in front of her, then raised her eyes to meet mine. “After you were taken ill, he came looking for you, but you were too feverish to answer whatever question he had intended to ask. Instead he left a message for me. I’d been awakened early-there was an emergency, you see-and before I was free to speak to him, one of his stretcher bearers came rushing into my office to say that Private Wilson had hanged himself in the shed. Dr. Harrison suggested that he’d begun to feel ill, that’s why he’d sought a nurse. Then as his symptoms progressed, and he realized what lay in store, he decided to end it while he was still able. I was there when he was cut down, and I myself closed his eyes.”

“Did you agree with Dr. Harrison’s view?” A surgeon, he’d worked mainly with the wounded.

Looking away toward the door, she said, “I must say, as far as anyone knew, he didn’t appear to be presenting symptoms. No fever, no aches, no dizziness. And so I’ve wondered, you know, if I’d been available, rather than having to put him off, perhaps I could have done something for him-given him an opportunity to tell me what was on his mind. I don’t know if I could have helped, but I’d have tried. I did wonder if there was a problem at home. Several people asked for compassionate leave when their wives or a child died of the influenza.”

But there had been no problem at home. I’d spoken to Mrs. Wilson.

“I don’t know that anyone could have helped him,” I said gently.

“Do you remember the onset of your symptoms?” she asked, turning back to me.

“Not really. Great fatigue, but we were all unbelievably tired, weren’t we? A headache, I think. Dizziness.”

“You told Sister Burrows that you felt cold, unable to warm yourself. And then you fainted. Your temperature climbed rapidly.”

Surprised, I said, “I don’t remember fainting. Or being so cold. But perhaps Dr. Harrison is right. Private Wilson knew what was coming and that he had to act quickly.”

“I’ve tried to comfort myself with that thought. But there will always be that little niggling doubt.”

There was no way I could assuage that sense of guilt. Not without telling her the whole truth. I could only agree that he was the last person I could imagine doing such a thing.

“We can’t read minds, can we?” She took a deep breath. “I was glad it was not my duty to write to his wife. Dr. Bennett broke the news as gently as he could. “

“I don’t remember Dr. Bennett,” I said.

“No? He’d hardly arrived here when he was ordered to another station. Three of their doctors died in the epidemic.” She finished her tea. “I must make my rounds,” she said. “And you are needed elsewhere. It was good of you to come and see me, Sister Crawford.”

And five minutes later, the ambulance, washed down and ready to go back the way we’d come, was there at the ward door.

I had remembered nothing useful by coming here, I thought as we bounced and skidded over the broken ground. All I had confirmed was that Private Wilson had indeed killed himself. Or so it appeared. And perhaps he had, after all.

And then as if once I’d stopped trying, the memories crowded in, memories I hadn’t looked for because I hadn’t remembered they were there.

The man with the bandaged shoulder. I’d been standing outside the ward for a moment on that last evening before I fell ill. Another Sister had joined me there, both of us struggling with exhaustion and hoping to find in the fresh air, away from the odors of death and disease, a brief, desperately needed renewal. Yes, and I could almost see again how stained and frayed the bandaging was. The man had gone into the small, makeshift canteen, and I’d wanted to stop him and tell him to see to that wound before it turned septic beneath the filthy dressing.

Had he?

For that matter, was it truly a hasty field dressing? Or was it a disguise? There were so many men coming and going, all of them wounded, that one more hardly warranted notice.

With two sisters standing not twenty feet away, why hadn’t he come to either of us to ask for help?

Sister, I’ve been waiting two hours or more, and nobody’s had a look at this shoulder. I’m fair famished for my tea, but it’s hurting like the very devil-begging your pardon, Sister-and I’m that light-headed from the pain…

We could have brought him his tea while the wound was being seen to. Why had he turned away?

There had been two officers passing by, limping.

Were they the reason he’d turned aside? Because he wasn’t wounded after all and had just put a dead man in the shed, where he should never have been found by Private Wilson or seen by me?

It was a shocking possibility.

“Stop!” I said to the driver of the ambulance. “We must go back. I-I’ve forgot to pick up something for Dr. Hicks.”

We had not come so great a distance that we couldn’t turn back, but ambulances were badly needed at the Front, and as the driver was reminding me, I ought not be using one for personal errands. But the question I needed to ask Matron would only take a moment, no more. Unless, of course, the Sister was still there.

Grumbling, my driver did as he was told, motioning the remainder of the convoy to continue on its way and reversing as soon as he could. I sat there, trying to recall which sister I’d been talking with. So much of those last few hours before my collapse seemed to be shrouded in a haze.

Sister Burrows, that was it. I’d liked her. We’d worked very well together.

The driver stopped not far from the ward where Matron had her office, and said, “I shan’t turn off the motor.”

A reminder that time was passing. I splashed through the muddy, torn yard and scraped my shoes before knocking at her door.

“Come,” she called, and I stepped in.

“Sister Crawford?” she said, surprised to see me. “Is there an emergency?”

“I had forgot-I have a message for Sister Burrows.” It was the only thing I could think of to explain my returning so impetuously.

Matron frowned, emphasizing how much these last weeks had aged her. “Didn’t you know? She died of the influenza not a week after you left us.”

I didn’t know what to say. Stammering, I finally replied, “No. I hadn’t been told.” Remembering my hasty improvisation, I added, “Nor had the young Lieutenant. I’m so very sorry.”

“She was a fine nurse,” Matron agreed. “She kept you alive, I think, until the crisis came. It was devotion to duty more than hope, but here you stand, living proof of her skill.”

“Did-did nursing me contribute to her own illness?”

“I doubt it. Like you when the influenza struck, she had been on her feet for nearly thirty-six hours working with a new convoy of the infected, although the doctor had told her to take a few hours for sleep. They had turned the corner, most of them, when she fainted outside my door. That too is to her credit.”

“I shall write to her family,” I said. “Thank you, Matron.”

I had turned to the door when her next words stopped me in my tracks. “You’re the second person this week who has asked for her.”

I forced myself to turn again slowly. “Who was he?” I asked.

“How did you know it was a man?” Matron demanded, the frown returning.

“I assumed it must be a patient. Or a former patient.”

“Yes, I see. It was rather odd. His name was Prescott, he said. Colonel Prescott. He told me Sister Burrows had nursed his son, and that he’d come to thank her. It’s always possible, of course, that he has a son in the Army. But Colonels seldom arrive without an entourage.” She regarded me. “Not related to your young Lieutenant, by any chance, is he? I’d feel more comfortable if he were.”

The last thing I wanted was to claim a connection with him. “I think not. My young Lieutenant was named Hennessey, and he came from her village.” I could feel myself flushing as I lied so boldly.

“I expect Sister Burrows is the only one who could have told us what this was about.”

“Do you recall what he looked like? The Colonel?”

“Prescott? Mustache. Dark hair. Very cold gray or perhaps blue eyes. I noticed them in particular. Possibly an inch or so short of six feet. A bulky man.”

I tried to remember what I’d seen of the man with the bandaged shoulder. Surely he’d been fair?

I shook my head. “I don’t think I remember a Prescott in our ward. Perhaps the son was one of those she nursed after I’d gone to England. Did you look at the lists?” We kept records of our patients. I was praying she would tell me he was there.

“No, the Colonel explained that his son was carried to the aid station where Sister Burrows had served before coming here. He’d had difficulty tracking her down, that’s why it had taken so long to speak to her, he said.”

“That could be true,” I replied, thinking aloud. “Still, I’d have thought he was too busy to come in person.”

“I wondered myself. But it’s possible he’s a better officer than he gave me the impression of being.”

I could hear the ambulance horn sounding now. I’d been here longer than I’d expected.

“I wonder if his son could have confused Sister Burrows with someone else,” I suggested, for Matron’s sake. I didn’t want her to be too curious about this Colonel Prescott and find herself his next victim. “Wounded men are so often in and out of consciousness-”

“I should have thought of that myself. It makes sense. Take care, Sister Crawford,” she said. “Don’t work yourself into a relapse.”

“I promise.”

And I was racing back to the ambulance, slipping quickly into my seat almost as the driver let in the clutch, and we were off.

This was the second appearance of “Colonel Prescott.” I needed to pass the information along to Simon or my father. But it wasn’t the sort of thing I could trust to the censors. He and my father had access to the military pouch on occasion, but I didn’t.

I couldn’t ask for leave. With the warming weather the influenza epidemic seemed to be waning, for we were beginning to see more wounded than feverish patients. Still, we were working around the clock, and nurses couldn’t be spared.

But what to make of this visit from Colonel Prescott, whoever he was?

When I reached the forward aid station I was told I wasn’t on call for six hours. And I was grateful-I could feel every mile in that ambulance in the stiffness of my body from clinging to my seat. But instead of sleeping, I found myself lying there, mulling over what to do. Simon had assured me that there was no Colonel Prescott presently on the rolls. He was seldom wrong about such things. The fact that there were rumors that Major Carson had deserted explained why his own commanding officer hadn’t written to Julia. Why had a Colonel Prescott? And why had this same Colonel Prescott come looking for Sister Burrows? Had she seen him later that night when I’d been taken ill? Spoken to him?

I was finally drifting off into sleep when I remembered the orderly carrying a mop and pail.

Hadn’t Sister Burrows promised to speak to him when he came by again, to ask him to bring a basket of clean linens to our ward? And if I’d come asking questions, she might have remembered that, especially if he’d never brought them. She could have described the man, surely.

But why had he risked coming openly to speak to Matron?

Because she would have no way of connecting him to that night.

The next thing I knew, someone was shaking my arm, trying to wake me out of a deep sleep.

I said, “Is it six o’clock already?” For it was still very dark outside as far as I could tell.

“Dr. Hicks wants you at once,” Sister Hanby told me. “Hurry, it’s an emergency.”

I dragged myself out of bed and into my clothes before I was fully awake, running across to the tent where emergencies were dealt with. Dr. Hicks was standing in the doorway, waiting for me.

“There’s a patient here who claims he knows you. You’d better come quickly, he’s in a bad way.”

My first thought was the Australian sergeant, wounded again. But when I saw the face of the man on the stretcher, his uniform cut off and dark blood pulsing from the wound on his shoulder in spite of what the nursing sister could do, I felt the world spin around me and thought for a moment I was going to faint.