Charles Todd - An Unmarked Grave

I bit my lip, trying to see where my father was going with this. “What are we to do?”

My father was studying the sky, watching a few scudding clouds that had appeared on the horizon, just visible now from under the leafy shelter of the trees.

The Colonel Sahib turned to me. “A single man, this spy. A single target? If he didn’t come for information-troop movements and the like, where the next attack might come-then he came for someone .”

“Who?” I asked. “Who in France is irreplaceable?”

“If he were in the American lines, I’d say one of their commanders. Surely they’re the biggest threat to the Germans just now.”

“But he isn’t behind the American lines. And he passes himself off as a Colonel.”

“Hmm,” my father said.

And then I knew. Or thought I did. Just as my father said under his breath, “The Prince of Wales.”

He wasn’t allowed to fight. But he visited the Front often enough, and he was very popular with the men.

“What good would that do? How would it affect the war?” I went on. “And not to be unfeeling about it, the Prince does have other brothers.”

“It would shock the country, hurt morale.”

It was hard to believe, all the same. And yet I couldn’t think of anyone else who was as popular as the Prince.

“I can’t believe-he and the Kaiser are cousins !” I said, still arguing with myself.

“What the Army does and the Kaiser knows might not be the same. Of course it’s possible that our problem and Simon’s aren’t connected-they seem to be because we know only a part of the story. Are you willing to beard a lion in its den?”

“A lion?” I asked warily.

“There are seven sons in the Morton family. Will was the actor, the others were miners and farmers. Respectable enough men, five of them. I shouldn’t think they’re a problem to themselves or others. And then there’s Hugh. He was closest to Will, or so my sources tell me, and he was a union leader before the war, best known for hiring several rather disreputable men to enforce his will. At the moment, he’s missing from his unit in France. He has been since his brother was reported dead. He could have killed Carson. He could be dead himself. But we need to know. And as quickly as may be.”

“Could Hugh Morton impersonate an officer?” I asked doubtfully. If he had been a union leader, he knew something about charming and haranguing his followers, but those were not the skills that would help him carry off such a charade.

“If there’s one actor in the family, I don’t see why another brother couldn’t have a talent in that direction. For all we know, he might be even more talented and simply chose not to use it. Take young Barclay with you. The best approach is that you are concerned for young Sabrina. Find out, if you can, which sons can be accounted for. I don’t think we’re going to find that Hugh is our man. He’s dead, very likely, just as William is. Still, if he’s our killer, then we have nothing to do with this spy business and can safely leave it to those who are involved.”

“What if Hugh is there? In Wales?” I asked.

“He isn’t. I can almost guarantee that. How is he going to get out of France? What I want to know is if the family mourns him. Or if they consider him still alive.”

“And Simon?”

“He’s best where he is. I don’t think Dr. Gaines will let him slip through his fingers.” He looked toward the clinic again, and I read the emotions flitting across his face. Worry, doubt, and a stronger feeling, anger. He had never left one of his men behind. Of course Simon had known the risk. To my father, it made no difference.

He left soon after that, and later in the evening, I asked Dr. Gaines if I could borrow his motorcar and of course Captain Barclay on my next free afternoon.

I was given permission and went to ask Captain Barclay if he would accompany me. He’d been avoiding me. Not quite making it obvious, but he hadn’t been seeking out my company the way he had before he’d become Barclay the orderly. One of the sisters had commented that I’d lost my beau to someone else.

He said, shaking his head as I told him I needed an escort, “I let you down in France.”

“My father asked if I’d take you to Wales with me. He must not agree.”

“Hardly the most dangerous place in the kingdom.”

“It could well be. All right, I’ll go alone if I must.” I’d been a witness to his attempt to trick Dr. Gaines with the butcher’s paper and it must have stung. I realized that this was not the best time to ask a favor.

Almost as if in response to what I’d just been thinking, he turned his head away and stared out the open door. “I’m useless. To the Army. To you. To myself. It’s appalling to think of my men dying in France while I’m forced to pace the floor here in an effort to strengthen a leg that might as well have been amputated for all the good it is to me.”

I read something in his face that I hadn’t seen before. Despair. And that worried me.

“Useless?” I said sternly, in my best imitation of Matron’s brisk tone. “That’s self-pity, Captain, and I’ll not have it. Buck up, young man, and fight for what you want. If it’s so important to you.”

In spite of his depressed spirits, he couldn’t help but smile.

I smiled in return and added in my own voice, “I expect I simply wanted your company again.”

After a moment, he shook his head, not in refusal this time but in surrender. “Yes, of course I’ll go with you. Do you have another wonder to show me?”

With that he walked away, limping more lightly on his cane than he himself could see. With a pang, I recognized that he would have his wish and return to France in a matter of weeks. If he didn’t give in to his despair before then and do something rash.

I waited until late in the evening, when I’d finished my duties, and then went to sit with Simon for a little. He was sleeping, his breathing quiet, his skin cool, without fever.

It was impossible to think of Simon Brandon being sent behind enemy lines, knowing that if he were severely wounded, he would be killed by his own men. It took incredible courage. Still, he had a strong sense of duty, as did my father. But even my father had been angry at the waste his death would have been.

I just didn’t know whether the spy behind the lines or one of the Morton family was the person behind my own brushes with death. But if it was the spy, then his thoroughness in eliminating anyone who could identify him was his very survival.

And what would Simon Brandon say if he learned that I’d already encountered the very spy he himself had been sent behind the German lines to uncover?

I said nothing to Simon about the death of Nurse Saunders. I just watched his slow improvement and encouraged him to rest as much as he could. And since he’d spoken to my father, his mind seemed to be at peace, as if duty done, he could now think about his need to recover.

When Thursday arrived, Dr. Gaines remembered that he’d agreed to let me take his motorcar for the day. I hadn’t said anything more to Captain Barclay, but after breakfast he reported to the doctor and was sent to join me as I came down the stairs to the foyer of the house.

It was a fine day, and we drove through the countryside of Somerset and into the Marches of Wales, the border country that had known its own struggles in the past but today was peaceful. Rolling hills and pastures, villages tucked in their lees, narrow streams and the occasional stand of trees marked the landscape. We stopped briefly to eat the picnic that the kitchen had provided, and I was reminded, painfully, of the picnic Simon had arranged as a backdrop for his encouraging me to stay in Britain and not return to France. I couldn’t help but wonder what would have changed if I’d taken his advice and never gone back to the battlefields.