James Benn - The Rest Is Silence

“Why not?” I said, watching Tom for any signs of the black dog, as Churchill called his deep depressions. “You’re all right, Tom? Just knocked down?”

“Look at this,” Tom said with a grin, sticking a finger in a rip on the shoulder of his uniform jacket. “Shrapnel missed nicking me by half an inch.” He was none the worse for wear. As bad as the shelling had been, it was new to him. It happened on the ground, not high in the night sky over Germany. That was my theory, anyway.

We dropped Tom off in North Cornworthy. He said his pal Constable Robert Carraher lived there and wouldn’t mind the company. He’d hitch a ride into Dartmouth with Carraher in the morning.

When we arrived back at Ashcroft, Kaz helped me limp inside. We’d concocted a story about an accident with the jeep, and I was sure that no one would pay us much mind. With all the military vehicles tearing around southern England, accidents were pretty much commonplace.

“What happened to you?” Edgar said as soon as we set foot in the hallway.

“Captain Boyle,” Meredith said, following Edgar out of the library. “Are you badly hurt? Come, sit down.”

“A minor accident,” I said. “Our jeep came out worse than I did.”

“What can we do for you?” Meredith asked, the concern on her face not what I expected. Haughty indifference, perhaps, or a cutting remark about Americans driving on the wrong side of the road. But this was a kinder Meredith.

“Nothing, thank you,” I said. “I think I’ll go lie down.”

“Baron, you look hurt as well,” Edgar said.

“I am fine,” Kaz said. “A few minor bruises. Billy got the worst of it.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to eat?” Meredith said. “We’ve just finished our luncheon, and there’s plenty of food.”

“I’m hardly dressed for it,” I said, gesturing at my trousers where the medic had shredded them to get at my cuts and scrapes. But it dawned on me that I was hungry, and suddenly the appeal of hot food was undeniable.

“Perhaps a tray will be best for Billy,” Kaz said, reading my mind. Meredith hustled off to organize food, giving orders like she ran the place.

Twenty minutes later I was in bed, munching on a cheese sandwich served with a bowl of fish soup and a glass of stout. My legs were stiffening up, and my arm ached, but at least I was on the right side of the grass for another day.

“You okay?” I said to Kaz, who was seated at a small table by the window, downing the soup without a single slurp.

“Yes,” he said. “I am a little sore, but unhurt. Do you need anything, Billy?”

“Some shut-eye, that’s all,” I said.

“Thank you,” Kaz said, standing at the foot of the bed. “You saved my life.”

“It was my turn,” I said. “I think we’re even now.”

Kaz laughed, the joy of cheating death yet again vivid on his face. He left, and as I lay there I thought about getting up, but my eyelids grew heavy, and I fell asleep as odd visions of Sir Rupert in a truck filled with dead men danced through my head.

The next morning I awoke to a knock on the door. It was Alice Withers, the kitchen maid, with my uniform from yesterday, or most of it. She had bright eyes, full lips, straw-blonde hair, and looked to be twenty or even younger. A cheery girl.

“Sorry to wake you, Captain,” she said, “but the baron said you should be up, and I thought you’d want these things. I cleaned and stitched the shirt myself. The trousers were a lost cause, sorry to say.” She placed the pile of clothes on the bed as I sat up.

“No problem,” I said. The shirt looked like new, except for the tear, which had been expertly sewn up. “How’d you get the bloodstains out?”

“Cold water and spit,” she said, giggling a bit. “Then you rub in salt and scrub with washsoap. It’s how Mrs. Dudley taught me. I hope you don’t mind.”

“The old ways are often the best,” I said, glancing at the clock. It was past time to get up. “Thanks, Alice.” She giggled again as she shut the door.

I washed and dressed, wincing as pain shot through my protesting legs. I sat back down on the edge of the bed, overcome by the realization that I really had been lucky yesterday. A thirteen-hundred pound vehicle had been tossed in the air by a 7.5-inch shell and then fallen smack on top of Kaz and me in about the only position guaranteed not to crush the two of us into a red meat pie. Luck. How much did I have left? Those guys on the beach hadn’t even met the enemy yet, and now some of them were six feet under before they’d fired a shot in anger.

I downplayed my injuries at breakfast, telling everyone I was fine even as I felt blood seeping through the thick bandage on my arm. I might need more of Alice’s spit tomorrow.

“Are you sure you’re well enough to travel, Captain?” Sir Rupert asked as he tucked in to his eggs.

“We’re only going to Dartmouth, to talk with an Inspector Grange,” I said. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Edmund Grange, you mean? Of the Devon Constabulary? Decent man, he should be of help to you,” Sir Rupert declared. “I sit on a committee for the Dartmouth Royal Regatta; I met him last summer while we were preparing for the festivities. Big headache for the police, I expect, but everyone enjoys the fun. It’s all scaled back these days, thanks to the war, but it’s a morale boost for the locals even so.”

“Oh yes, the Mayor’s Ball is the highlight of the week,” Helen said, lighting up with enthusiasm for a brief moment. Then her face went blank, and she stared down at her plate. Maybe the notion of going to the ball with David this year didn’t sit well.

“Give Grange my best,” Sir Rupert said, a brief frown creasing his forehead as he watched Helen. “And I’m glad you’re not badly hurt, or worse.”

“Indeed,” Great Aunt Sylvia said. “It would be a silly way to go, in any case. Tell me, Baron Kazimierz, have you family in Poland? It must be quite difficult for them, from what I hear.”

“No, Lady Pemberton,” Kaz said in a low voice. “I do not.” The only sound that followed was Edgar tapping the shell of his soft-boiled egg. After a few minutes, the idle chitchat picked up again. Kaz and I excused ourselves and made for the jeep.

Family was a hard subject for Kaz. His was wiped out by the Nazis after the invasion of Poland. They had been wealthy-far wealthier than the residents of Ashcroft House-and his father had had the foresight to transfer the family fortune to a Swiss bank in case of war. He hadn’t foreseen how quickly the war would be at his doorstep, however, and had missed his chance to leave the country. The Kazimierz family had been murdered as part of the Nazi plan to exterminate the intelligentsia. Businessmen, aristocrats, lawyers, and anyone who might resist were ruthlessly slaughtered. Kaz had had no relatives to squabble with and no one but me to confide in since he was maimed in the explosion that had killed Daphne Seaton.

It was our first case together. Kaz lost the love of his life and got that scar as a daily reminder. He took chances and sought death after that, but he was too damn lucky to find it. Since then, he’s hung around to keep me out of trouble, I think. It’s a good thing for him that trouble seems always to be right around the corner.

Maybe I should revise that bit about Kaz having no one else but me. There is a princess in Rome, but she’s part of the underground, and he won’t be seeing her anytime too soon. Again, it’s a long story, but she deserves a mention. Sometimes broken hearts do heal.

“A hospitable bunch, but strange nonetheless,” I said, if only to break the silence as we headed down the long driveway.