Charles Todd - An Unmarked Grave

Dr. Hicks, straightening his back, then arching it, as if it ached, said, “Go on to bed, Sister. We’ve done all we can. I’ll rouse Dr. Timmons and Sister Clery. They can take over.”

He was right, we had done what we could do. And that was saying a good bit. I said good night and trudged out into the darkness, wondering if the time would ever come when I could say with any confidence that I had had enough sleep while I was in France. Certainly since Eastbourne and even Longleigh House, I had not.

I made a detour to wash up before going to bed, entering the empty line of latrines and basins, listening to the sound of my footsteps echoing on the thin boards that kept our feet out of the foul mud below. A single candle in a dish gave me enough light to see the bucket standing under the water lorry, and I filled it just enough to take out my handkerchief and wash my face and hands. Water was precious, but so was cleanliness, when dealing with patients.

I had closed my eyes to splash water over my face. It smelled strongly of brine and faintly of petrol, but it was cool enough to feel the fresh morning air on my wet skin. I leaned my head back to bathe my throat.

Just as I did, an arm came round my neck from behind, hard enough to choke off my breath, and I had a flash of thought-that this was how Private Wilson had been found hanging-before I reacted. I wasn’t about to be choked into unconsciousness and then a rope pulled around my neck. Private Wilson had been taken unawares. I was as well, but I had a little history to guide me. I hadn’t grown up in an Army post without learning something about self-defense. Subalterns had vied to show off-and show me tricks sure to protect me.

As the candle sputtered, my booted foot kicked out at the water bucket, connecting with such force that it went bouncing and clanging down the boards. My hands went not to claw uselessly at the arm of my attacker and the heavy fabric of his uniform sleeve, but at his vulnerable sides, digging in my nails and raking upward, finding the soft skin beneath his tunic and shirt. It caught him by surprise. As he twisted to protect himself, I tramped down on his instep with my other boot. And these weren’t the pretty shoes of a London season; they were designed to survive the Front.

He relaxed his arm briefly, swearing and jerking back in pain. I spun out of his grip, and as soon as I could fill my lungs with air again, I screamed. Furious, he shoved me toward the lorry, and I stumbled as I tried to keep my balance, hurting my wrist as I went down.

He reached for me again, pulling me up, trying to get a hand over my mouth, no longer hoping to make my death look like suicide. Now he was intent on simple murder. I cried out again before he succeeded in cutting it short.

There are only a handful of women this close to the front lines, and my first scream brought men racing from every direction. By my second, they were converging on us. My assailant flung me against the offside wheel of the water lorry with some force. I threw up my hands just in time to protect my head and face. He ducked beneath the lorry and disappeared into the shadows on the far side.

By the time the first orderly reached me, I’d scrambled to my feet, alone and furiously angry in my turn.

I could have tried to pass off the attack as female fears and an overwrought imagination in the shadowy, poorly lit latrines.

Perhaps it would have been better that way. But my hair was tumbling down my back, the side of my face where I’d scraped it on something was already an angry red in the light of the torches blinding me, and the strap of my apron had been torn off the bib. There was no disguising the fact that I’d been in trouble.

Their first thought was an attempt at rape. And why should they even consider murder?

Dr. Hicks was pushing the other men aside, leaning forward to get a better look at me. He swore as he took in the damage.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he demanded, his face like a thundercloud.

“My wrist-I think it banged into the pump as I broke away. Nothing a cold compress won’t help.” In spite of the effort I’d made to get myself under control, even I could hear the shock in my voice. Nor could I do much about the fact that I must have looked like a thundercloud myself.

Everyone seemed to be there in the darkness behind the ring of torchlight. Sisters, orderlies, ambulatory patients, ambulance drivers. I quickly scanned their faces searching for-what? A stranger amongst them, anyone who could fit Matron’s description of the man who’d come looking for Sister Burrows. But of course there was no one who by any stretch of my imagination could have attacked me. There was only genuine concern for me. And by coming so quickly to my aid, they had unwittingly allowed my assailant to escape.

Dr. Hicks seemed to realize that in the same moment. He half turned to the orderlies and ambulance drivers, saying grimly, “Don’t stand there-start searching the aid station. Top to bottom. Find out who did this!”

That done, Dr. Hicks marched me off to the surgery tent to bathe and dress my face, then find a compress for my wrist where a bruise was fast turning to an ugly red.

“Did you see who it was, Sister Crawford? Can you give us any description?”

“I tried. But he came from behind, out of the shadows, and I think the candle went over as he reached for me. I didn’t even know he was there until he put his arm around my throat.” I didn’t add that his other hand had been locked in the palm of the hand suffocating me, bringing all his strength to bear on cutting off my air. He had known what he was doing, there was no doubt in my mind about that.

“Did you mark him in any way?”

“Not where it could be seen. There was no chance,” I said as he tilted my head to look at my throat. “I couldn’t have reached his face, I was nearly sure of that, but where I dug my nails into his sides, there must be marks.”

“You kept your head,” he said, nodding in approval, “but sooner or later the shock will catch up with you.”

“He must have lined up with the walking wounded, then slipped away when no one was looking.”

“Yes, that chest wound-we were so busy. It must have been then.”

The soldier had been dying from blood loss when he was brought in, and somehow, miraculously, Dr. Hicks had found the source of the bleeding and stopped it. The boy-he seemed no older than that on the stretcher-was sent straight back to the Base Hospital, with a fifty-fifty chance of surviving. We’d all applauded when Dr. Hicks had stepped back and nodded, his hands and arms covered in blood. I wouldn’t have believed it possible if I hadn’t watched it for myself.

In that moment of success, someone could have stepped out of line, walked to the latrines, and waited for me. He must have seen me clearly as I sorted the cases, but I’d been too busy to see him.

“I’ll strip every man in here if I have to. You were damn-very fortunate,” the doctor was saying to me as he considered the marks on my neck. “I won’t have this sort of thing on my watch.”

And he stormed out to do just exactly that.

But of course he didn’t find my attacker or anyone with a mark on him that would correspond to my struggle.

Soon after that, he came back to escort me to my quarters, saying only, “He’s not here. Mind you, that doesn’t mean he wasn’t. Or that he won’t come back. If not for you, then for one of the other sisters. And I’ll see that word is passed. This won’t be tolerated.”

He stood outside my tent until I was inside, and I found it comforting, despite my certainty that there wouldn’t be a repeat attack. At least not while the guard of the entire station was up.

I didn’t fall sleep for a long while. My body was still tense, the feel of that arm choking me still too fresh. Every little sound in the darkness seemed overly loud and menacing, even though I told myself to ignore it.