Charles Todd - A Bitter Truth

I looked down at my unlikely weapon. The part in my hand felt solid enough.

“I was coming to your rescue,” I said. “I wasn’t going to let him get away.”

“Did he look as if he was going to get away?”

We glared at each other. And then we both began to laugh. He reached down and took the offending branch from my hand, tossed it aside, and put his arms around me. “My dearest girl,” he said gently, “your father is right, you are afraid of nothing. And that can be very dangerous, has anyone told you that?”

His embrace was comforting. It had been a long day, and I had carried enough burdens.

And then without a word, I handed him the slip of paper I’d found in his motorcar, telling him what was written on it.

“Bastard,” he said under his breath, and then to me he added, “Where was it? I never saw it.”

“It had fallen under a seat.”

“All right, as Hamlet said, shall we lug the guts into another room? At least as far as my motorcar. Then we’ll try to get the Ellis vehicle back on the road. Or not, as the case may be. Can you manage his feet?”

We put the still unconscious Constable Bates/Sergeant Halloran into Simon’s motorcar, then managed after several attempts to get the Ellis motorcar out of the field. Soon we were driving sedately back to Hartfield, in tandem.

Alone in the motorcar, following Simon, I could hear Mrs. Ellis’s voice in the darkness around me. I didn’t know what to do about it. I didn’t know what to do about Sophie, except to hand her over to Simon and my father to return her to the nuns in Rouen.

It was a long night. Simon stayed with me as we made our explanations to a very angry Inspector Rother.

He refused to believe me at first, just as he’d refused to believe Simon and Roger Ellis, accusing us of trying to distract him from the Ellis family. Constable Bates had served the Forest well for nearly two years, responsible and capable. He couldn’t be a deserter under the sentence of death. He’d been invaluable to the inquiry. And so on.

Close to dawn, when Army officials arrived from London, Inspector Rother was finally satisfied that Sergeant Halloran and Constable Bates were one and the same.

And when Constable Austin was sent to search the small cottage where Constable Bates had lived, he found a broken walking stick, the length of an officer’s swagger stick, with the blunt end still sticky with Willy’s hair and blood. I was so grateful that it hadn’t been the marble kitten after all.

I went to see how Willy was faring. Mr. Smyth had taken him in. The doctor from Groombridge told me that with care, Willy would survive with no ill effects. The scarf was a loss, but I laid the new gloves on his pillow. He didn’t seem to remember what had become of his own.

Gran, her face gray with fatigue, was finally allowed to take Mrs. Ellis home. Roger was coming to drive them, after a few final words with the rector.

She and I had only a few seconds together as I held her door and Simon bent to turn the crank. Gran was speaking to Inspector Rother, giving him her views of overly keen policemen harassing peaceful citizens.

I said to Mrs. Ellis, “I told you earlier that I can’t give you absolution for what you did. But for your family’s sake, you must find the courage to put it behind you. It will hurt them terribly if they knew. Your penance must be their happiness.”

She put up a hand and touched my face. “You are a dear girl, Bess. I was haunted ever after by what I’d done. I thought my husband’s suicide was my punishment. But when George was killed and I saw his lifeless body there in the water, I realized that I was no better than a murderer myself. And that there is no punishment that befits taking another’s life. Under any circumstances.” She swallowed her tears. “I loved them so dearly.”

“I know. Sometimes love tries to do too much.”

And then they were driving away.

Simon came to me and said, “What about the child?”

“I’m too weary to think. I’m overdue in France. But Inspector Rother can deal with that. I must get word to Sister Marie Joseph-but I don’t know where to find them after the fire!” The realization was like a blow. “It’s all to do over again, searching for them. And what shall I do with Sophie, meanwhile? I can’t take her to Somerset. I can’t change her world a third time.”

He pulled me into his arms and held me until I was calmer.

“You need sleep, Bess. Tomorrow we’ll deal with Sophie and the nuns.”

“I should go back to France tonight. And what about that poor Major’s motorcar?”

“The war will keep. So will the motorcar.”

I laughed, and he let me go.

“The war might wait,” I said ruefully, “but Matron is likely to kill me.”

H e drove me to Dover the next afternoon, after I’d given the police my statement, and I’d said good-bye to Roger Ellis, who had come into town to speak to me.

He too was on his way back to France, his orders sending him through Portsmouth.

He stood before me, trying to find the words he wanted to say.

I shook my head. “I don’t like leaving Sophie in Vixen Hill any more than you do. But I have no choice until I find Sister Marie Joseph.”

“I don’t know what to do about her,” he told me truthfully. “She’s probably mine, isn’t she?”

“She’s legally Sophie Hebert. You told me. I’d leave it at that. Even if you adopt her.”

“Yes. You can’t know how many times I’ve regretted that night.”

“I don’t think Claudette did. She gave her husband a child, even though he didn’t live to see it. Did you ever think that Sophie might, one day, inherit his property? She deserves it. When the war is over, you could see that her interests are protected.”

“I shall.” He took my hand, then leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “I hated you when I first met you. God keep you safe.”

“And you as well.”

He was gone, and Simon was ready to leave. He had already arranged for someone to transport the Major’s vehicle safely back to Dover. I stepped into the motorcar and leaned back against the seat.

“I would so much like to go home to Somerset.” I’d spoken to my mother and the Colonel Sahib on the inn’s telephone. Their voices had sounded so near, I felt the distance sharply.

“I know. Next time.”

W hen I landed in France, it was the darkness before dawn, and the streets of Rouen seemed empty, even the new recruits gone up toward the fighting.

But across the water as we had moved toward the quay and set about docking came the call of an Australian kingfisher, and I stood by the rail, waving a white handkerchief in response.

Sergeant Larimore was there to greet me when we were allowed to disembark. He looked better than I’d seen him since he’d been wounded, though still a little singed around the edges.

“You got back safely, I see,” I said.

“It’s the saintly life I lead,” he assured me. “They fussed over the burns and my bravery, and the fact that I’d passed out from the pain and couldn’t report back to the Base Hospital.”

And I was sure there was a hint of canary feathers around his mouth as he added, “I told the nuns, Bess. I traced them and I confessed to what I’d done. And I told them Sophie was safe, that she’d be brought back to France if they wished.”

“Dear God. What did they say?” I stopped stock-still, waiting for another blow to fall.

“They were that grateful. I had a long and very serious lecture from Sister Marie Joseph about the dire effects of impulsive behavior. They’re being moved to a house in Lille, the nuns and the children with them. She gave me the direction. And the direction of that lawyer on Fish Street.”