Charles Todd - An Unmarked Grave

He brushed that aside. “I’ll look forward to seeing you on another voyage, this time not under duress.”

We walked together to the deck, where I saw Barclay, looking far more himself now, waiting for me. Without a word we disembarked and made our way along the docks to the gates. The Captain was several steps behind me, as was proper, but once we were in the town itself, he caught me up.

“Do you know everyone in Christendom, Bess Crawford?” he asked, a repressed note of disapproval in his voice.

“You forget,” I said. “Since Britannic, I must have made the journey to France and back half a hundred times. It would be strange if I didn’t know most of the ships’ officers. Which makes it all the worse when they go missing. The First Officer is new, replacing a man who lost his leg during the winter. And the Third Officer is new as well. His ship was sunk on convoy duty and he’s learning the run to France-”

I broke off, watching a motorcar coming toward us. I stopped stock-still as I recognized it.

“What is it?” Captain Barclay asked, tensing.

But by that time it was near enough for him to recognize the driver. My father.

As he greeted us I asked, “How did you know I was coming in?”

“I was having dinner with the Port Captain when you arrived. Captain Garrison sent a signal. He didn’t specify my daughter was on board, but he did say wounded and nurses. Not sisters. And a signal never includes hospital staff-it’s assumed they’re aboard with the wounded. I thought I ought to have a look. But we hadn’t finished our Port, and Mackenzie insisted that I stay until it had been round once.”

Then he turned to greet Captain Barclay, making no remark about the torn uniform or the scrapes and cuts on his face, not to mention his knuckles.

“Thank you for bringing her home safely,” he said.

Captain Barclay grimaced. “Not without difficulty.”

The Colonel Sahib ushered us into the motorcar, and we said very little as we drove through the narrow, twisting streets toward the main road north through Hampshire. Clear of the city, we picked up the first showers of rain. My father settled to a steady speed and then nodded to me to begin my account of events, interrupted from time to time by the Captain. As I spoke, he listened with a grim expression clearly visible even in the cloudy darkness.

“Good God!” he said when I had given him all the details. “I’ll see what I can do to set this business to rights. I think it might be best if Barclay the orderly simply disappeared, and Captain Barclay returned to the clinic for further treatment of his troublesome wound after his brief furlough to London.”

Captain Barclay opened his mouth to argue, thought better of it, and said only, “Thank you, sir.”

“I’m afraid my reputation can’t be repaired quite so easily,” I said ruefully.

“Perhaps Nurse Bailey can be thanked for helping you smuggle one of our spies safely out of France and back into England.”

“I think,” I said, considering the suggestion, “she might be happier if I had helped capture a notorious German spy.”

“God help us if that got back to the wrong ears. No, we’ll offer our sincerest gratitude to both of you for unspecified services to the Crown.”

I wanted to ask the Colonel Sahib if he thought I was safe now. But I was reluctant to broach the subject so soon. And how was I to get back to France until this whole business was settled? It was a dilemma.

As the rain turned into a downpour shortly after we’d crossed into Somerset, we stopped briefly for a late supper until it blew over.

My father had said nothing about Simon, and I had been afraid to ask, for fear he was not healing as he should. It was one of the drawbacks to being a nurse. I knew too much about wounds and a man’s chances of survival. Finally I took my courage in my hands and said, “Is Simon all right?”

“A deucedly poor patient. Your mother has had her hands full.” And that was all he would say.

The conversation turned to Major Carson, and I asked my father if he’d ever met William Morton.

“Actually I haven’t. He and Sabrina eloped, and after that her father never spoke to her again. I thought that rather harsh. It left her with nowhere to turn in the event she was ever unhappy. And so, as far as I know, she has stayed with her actor.”

“A pity.” I took a deep breath. “Julia told me that in one of his last letters, her husband was angry with someone in his company but didn’t mention a name because of the censors. But soon afterward the offending soldier was sent to another sector. Do you think that soldier could have been William Morton? It’s a pity we don’t have the journal the Major kept. It might give us some answers.”

Captain Barclay interrupted. “Who is William Morton?”

My father said, “He married the Major’s younger sister. The family didn’t approve of him. It would be interesting to see what sort of war he’s had.”

“He could have lured the Major to that false rendezvous. But why wait all these years?” I asked.

“A good point. Still, there’s no accounting for a long-harbored anger. It can spill over unexpectedly,” my father said.

“Which reminds me, Julia told me when I visited her that Sabrina didn’t come to the memorial service. That she was poor again. Her words.”

“She can’t live as she’s used to on a private soldier’s pay,” my father agreed. “There could have been an argument over settling an allowance on her.”

“But how would the Major have felt about that? I know he was closer to his other sister, but surely he didn’t carry on his father’s feeling that she made her choice and must live with it.”

“He never discussed it with me,” my father said as the chargers of food were set before us. Shortages or not, it smelled heavenly, and we set to with an appetite. “And of course by rights he shouldn’t have. It was a family matter.”

“Julia might know,” I said doubtfully, finishing the ham and turning to the last of the roasted potatoes on my plate. “But the same difficulty applies. Could you speak to the Major’s solicitors?”

“I’d rather not make it quite so official. There’s the other sister. Valerie. You could call on her. She might be able to shed some light on Sabrina’s situation and her brother’s handling of it. She lives in Gloucestershire. Not all that far away.”

“I don’t know her as well as I do Julia,” I reminded him. “I shall need a better reason than to offer my condolences at this late date.”

“Your mother will think of something.”

Captain Barclay said casually, “I shall be glad to accompany Sister Crawford, sir. If you like.”

“I can drive myself. If you remember,” I told him.

We finished our tea and then set out once more. The rain had stopped, and after a while the moon followed us up the drive to the house.

Two mornings later-still encumbered with Captain Barclay but armed with an excuse provided by my mother-we set out for Gloucestershire. Valerie and her husband lived on the outskirts of Gloucester, within sight of the castle.

She had married a man in banking who now served with the Navy.

She received me cordially, and I gave her a set of embroidered baby clothes, with a cap and a matching pram coverlet done up in lilac and palest green, for she was expecting a child in three months’ time. Julia hadn’t mentioned it, and when I said as much, Valerie said, “I expect she was wishing she also had a child on the way. But how kind of your mother to remember! I shall write to her at once, but you must tell her I shall treasure this gift.”

“I shall. Does Sabrina have any children? I don’t remember.”