Charles Todd - A Duty to the Dead

“Miss Crawford-”

“Good morning, Lieutenant Graham,” I managed to say. “How is your family?”

“My family? Yes, well enough. What-brings you back to Tonbridge?”

“A personal matter,” I replied. I wanted very much to ask him the same. We stood there, confronting each other, neither willing to give the other satisfaction.

Finally Jonathan said, “Will you be returning to Owlhurst?”

“I’ve considered it,” I said slowly. “Perhaps to call on Dr. Philips.”

The words lingered in the air like the morning mists, going nowhere.

Jonathan Graham frowned. I realized, too late, that it sounded as if I were pursuing the good doctor, a very bold thing for a single woman to do. My mother would have been appalled. I could feel my face flush as it was.

Trying to recover, I said, “We had a professional connection, in regard to Ted Booker and cases like his.”

The frown deepened.

I took the plunge. “You weren’t called at the inquest, and I can’t help but wonder why. You visited Mr. Booker, didn’t you, the night before he was found.”

I managed to make it sound like a documented fact.

“All right. Yes, I did. I felt-a fellow invalid’s compassion.”

He’d hardly shown compassion when he’d called Ted Booker a coward.

“I’ve wondered why you didn’t speak up at the inquest. It could have given all of us a clearer picture of his state of mind later in the evening.”

“I spoke to the police. I told them he was asleep when I got there. That I’d turned around and left straightaway.”

I couldn’t have said why, but I didn’t believe him.

And why had Ted Booker killed himself, if he could sleep?

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I truly believed he’d turned the corner. It’s heart wrenching, to lose a patient.”

“As you lost Arthur.”

Touché.

“Do you know when you’ll return to France?” I asked him.

“They remove the bandages tomorrow,” he said. “It should have been sooner, but there was concern about infection. Thank God, their worry was misplaced. Another week, and I’ll be declared fit.”

“I wish you well. Good-bye, Lieutenant Graham.”

I held out my hand and he shook it.

“Good-bye, Miss Crawford.”

I went upstairs and knocked on Peregrine’s door. He was dressed and shaved, preparing to meet me in the dining room for breakfast.

“Jonathan is here in this same hotel,” I told him in a low voice. “It would be best if we left for London as soon as we can find a train.”

“Jonathan?”

“Yes, he’s here to see his doctors. They expect to remove his bandages tomorrow. That means he’ll be in and out, and we’re likely to run into him.”

“I didn’t know he’d been wounded.”

“Across the face. It’s going to leave a terrible scar.”

“I’d have liked to join the army.”

“Be glad you were spared,” I said shortly. “I’ll go and see about tickets. But it might be best if you stayed here, in your room, until we’re ready to leave.”

“Jonathan won’t recognize me. Not after all these years.”

“I wouldn’t wager your freedom on it.”

“No.”

He closed his door and I went to the station, found that there were tickets for the morning train, and before Tonbridge was stirring, we were on our way back to London.

Once on the train, I drew a sigh of relief. It wouldn’t have done for Jonathan Graham to find me with Peregrine. It was dawning on me that the cost of helping this man could well be my reputation. Was there a law forbidding aiding a desperate fugitive from an asylum? I shuddered to think.

As we were nearing London, Peregrine opened his eyes and turned to me.

“Will your friend be at the flat?”

“Diana?” I felt a chill. “I-don’t know. Why?”

“She’s very pretty.”

Oh, dear.

He was saying, “The only women I’ve seen for nearly fifteen years are other inmates and matrons. I’ve noticed too how the world has left me behind. The women are dressed very differently, there are more men in uniform than in civilian clothes-only the very old and the very young aren’t, in fact. There are more automobiles, and very different ones at that. And this morning, while I was waiting for you, there was a flight of aeroplanes I could see from my window. I feel like a stranger in my own country. It’s daunting, frightening, and fascinating, all in one.”

I could imagine. Peregrine had managed remarkably well. I was beginning to realize the tragedy of his childhood. Mrs. Graham had done a cruel thing, whether out of maliciousness or out of an honest belief that he was different, I couldn’t tell. Mr. Appleby had aided and abetted her treatment of Peregrine, the fault was surely not entirely hers.

We were arriving in London. Back in the crowded, anonymous world of people who had things on their minds other than spotting my companion and taking him back to his jailers.

How do you make up for a lost life? I couldn’t think of a way.

Diana was delighted to see us, demanding to borrow Peregrine for an hour that evening, to escort her to a dinner party. He flatly refused, and she was hurt, saying to me later, “He’s the most attractive male I’ve seen in weeks, and the only whole one as well.”

“I’ve promised to see that he doesn’t overdo. Next visit, he’ll be well on his way to recovery.”

“I think you merely want to keep him for yourself.”

I laughed. Little did she know. But I didn’t want a blossoming romance on Diana’s side or any temptation on Peregrine’s. After all, by his own admission he’d killed one young woman. Whether it was true or not.

There was a knock at the door, and I went to open it, thinking that Elayne must be back and had forgot her key again. She’d find a man in her bed. But knowing Elayne, she’d be amused and not angry.

It was my father standing there on the threshold, concern on his face.

“I came to see you yesterday. Your mother was worried. Your friend told me that you’d gone to Kent. Back to Owlhurst?”

My mouth had dropped open at the sight of him. I shut it. Over my shoulder, Diana said, “Ah. I forgot to tell you that your father was in town.”

My father smiled. “I can see that you did. Er-am I to wait on the threshold, or am I allowed into your flat?”

“Come in, of course,” I said, but one part of my mind was praying that Peregrine, hearing a male voice, would stay where he was, in Elayne’s room. All my father had to see was that uniform, and Peregrine would be finished. “Is Mama with you?”

The Colonel Sahib stepped in, his frame filling the room in a way I hadn’t remembered before.

Guilty conscience, a voice in my head pointed out.

“She’s at home. I needed to be in London for a few hours and wanted to ask if you’d decided to come home again. We could travel together.”

I said in a distracted way, “I’m thinking of staying on a few more days.”

“Do you feel your social calendar might accommodate an elderly relative desirous of your company at lunch?”

I smiled in relief. “If the elderly relative is my father-of course.”

For an instant I thought he was about to ask Diana to join us. But she said, “I’ve things to do to get myself ready. Go, and leave me to see to them.”

And then I was instantly suspicious. Had she and the Colonel planned this between them?

I said, “Let me fetch my coat,” and all but ran to my room. I found paper and pen, jotted a brief message for Peregrine, telling him that I’d be back as quickly as I could, and was ushering my father out the door in short order.

M Y FATHER HADhis motorcar waiting, with a familiar driver. I’d grown up knowing Simon Brandon. He’d been in and out of the house so often that my mother said that she felt he must be related. From lowly soldier-servant to my officer father, he had risen to the heights of his profession: regimental sergeant major. There were not many people who argued with him. My father was one, and I was the other.