by Evelyn James
Still, onwards and upwards. She had a mystery to solve.
Safely in the steamer’s comfortable saloon, with the sea softly lapping at the sides of the boat and audible through the open windows, Clara took out the file on Father Lound once more. As she had done a dozen times before, she picked up her transcript concerning the bones found in the forest and read through it. Each time she thought she might find something more in the words, some detail she had missed. Each time she was disappointed.
Annie brought over a cup of tea she had purchased at the saloon bar. She was struggling to find her sea legs and the cups wobbled in her hands somewhat alarmingly as she approached Clara.
“I don’t know why I am doing this,” she muttered as she put the cups on the table. “I feel all a dither. I could have stayed at home, in my own kitchen.”
“I thought you were hoping to get some new cake recipes?” Clara reminded her.
“I said that to Tommy, mainly I am here for him. Ohhh,” Annie had glanced out of the window at the sea and was looking alarmed. “What if we sink Clara?”
“That is highly unlikely,” Clara replied. “Do you want one of the seasickness pills I brought along? They are very good.”
“I don’t feel sick, I feel worried,” Annie responded, finding it hard to pull her eyes off the grey ocean. “Ships sink all the time and lives are lost. There was that mine that nearly blew you up at New Year’s on the Mary Jane, what if we hit a mine?”
“The sea lanes are heavily used Annie, there are no mines left here,” Clara promised.
“I imagine that is what everyone was thinking at New Year’s, yet suddenly there was a mine!”
“Annie, you are going to be perfectly all right,” Clara reassured her friend. “We are only at sea a couple of hours, in any case.”
Annie took a deep breath, then shut her eyes and braced her hands on the edge of the table.
“I am doing this for Tommy,” she told herself firmly. “I can do this.”
“Shush, he is coming,” Clara said hastily.
Tommy and Colonel Brandt had been walking the deck in the sunshine. Clara wondered what they had been discussing, as Tommy had a smile on his face and looked far more cheery than he had done when they set out on this adventure.
“The captain says the crossing will be speedy as the weather is so fine,” Colonel Brandt observed, sitting down next to Clara.
Tommy sat beside Annie.
“Now, before we land, I wanted to ask what your plan of action was Clara,” Brandt said. “How can I be of best use to you?”
“I have a list of people to interview,” Clara said. “Including the Belgium police and the local doctor who was involved in examining a skeleton that was found in the woods which might be that of Father Lound.”
“He’s dead then?” Tommy asked.
“Maybe,” Clara offered him the transcript.
Tommy whistled through his teeth.
“Someone murdered this poor fellow, for whatever reason,” Tommy put down the paper. “Finding out who did that seems likely impossible.”
“I specialise in impossible,” Clara winked at him. “In any case, we shall have to work separately to cover as much ground as we can. Tommy and Annie, you two stick together. Tommy can speak French, even if he is a little rusty. Colonel Brandt…”
“May I suggest I stay at your side?” Brandt interrupted her. “I have contacts who may be of use and my French is extremely good, not that I am questioning your language skills, but I may be able to open doors for you?”
Clara hesitated. She had intended to send Colonel Brandt off in one direction, while she went in another. Working together had not been her plan. She didn’t like to admit that pride played a part as well. She didn’t want the locals to think she was incapable of conducting this case alone or, worse, that she was Colonel Brandt’s assistant.
“I am quite happy working alone,” Clara explained as diplomatically as she could. “There may be hesitancy from some people to speak to me if they are aware a British colonel is by my side. This is a case of treason, after all, and these people will be uneasy around the military.”
“I did not mean to imply you were incapable of working independently,” Brandt said with a smile to indicate he was not offended. “I merely wish to be of as much use as possible.”
“And you shall,” Clara observed. “There are many people to interview and to locate.”
“Perhaps a better partnership would be for me and the colonel to work together, while you and Annie team up?” Tommy suggested. “Brandt and I shall attack the official side of things, while you and Annie can look to the civilians who may be uneasy speaking to former soldiers.”
Clara frowned, she had the impression that Brandt and Tommy had been talking and had agreed that she should not be left to roam any part of Belgium alone. She was starting to feel annoyed. Then she glanced at Annie, who was looking most uneasy and came to a decision. Brandt was clearly having a positive effect on Tommy and Annie was now the one who needed to be distracted from her worries. If Clara could not escape her friends’ insistence she not work alone, at least she could team up with another woman.
“All right, Annie, you shall join me. You are good at talking to people.”
“I don’t speak French,” Annie mumbled.
“That’s fine, my dear, a lot of Belgians speak jolly good English,” Colonel Brandt smiled. “Now that is all settled, can I interest anyone in a game of cards to pass the time?”
~~~*~~~
They arrived in France in the early afternoon and it was then necessary to find a coach to take them into Belgium. The journey was uneventful, but long, and it was nightfall by the time they arrived at the little town where seven years ago Albion Hope was founded. There were still signs of the hardship the place had gone through. Several buildings stood in ruins, abandoned by their former occupants who were presumably either dead or long gone from this place. Roads were still being repaired from the damage caused by the heavy artillery carted along them, and from stray German shells that had crashed into the ground.
There were odd things that reminded you that this place had once been a war zone; scraps of barbed wire, empty artillery shells purloined to use for mundane tasks, such as water buckets, a German helmet sitting on a windowsill and gathering dust.
The people, however, were cheerful and greeted the new arrivals with smiles. It soon became plain that the town was a hotspot for tourists. There was a little spa nearby that was serviced by a local spring, the water of which was said to have great curative properties. Clara and her friends found they were among a dozen souls heading for the same place. Some were heading on to the spa, others were making a pilgrimage to a local saint’s shrine, while others were stopping at the town as it was near to a British military cemetery where they had relatives buried. Tourism appeared to be the lifeblood of this place, and it did not take long for Clara to find a suitable hotel to make her base of operations.
It was too late to begin interviewing people, but their host seemed talkative, so Clara decided to chat to him and see what he recalled of Albion Hope and Father Lound when they went down to dinner. It was a quiet evening for the hotel owner as it was mid-week and he only had Clara’s party and a couple of others to attend to. He was more than willing, after dinner had been digested, to chat with Clara and her friends in the hotel’s saloon.
Clara began the conversation by explaining they had come to see the place where Albion Hope had once existed.
“You mean the old Vernon chateau,” their host, Monsieur Janssen, replied. “Back in 1915 old Monsieur Vernon became very unwell and it was suggested he go to the spa to recuperate. In the meantime, some British priests were looking for a place to begin this rest home of theirs. Monsieur Vernon said they could use his property, gifted it to them for the duration of the war. He subsequently passed away, but not without making provision in his will for them. They could use his old chateau for as long as there were British soldiers
needing its solace, then it must revert to the possession of his daughter, his only heir.
“That happened in 1919. His daughter came to town, for she did not live here, took one look at the chateau and decided to sell it. Now it belongs to the Coppens family, who have spent a great deal of time making it liveable again. The shelling made a lot of houses unsettled, you know, um, that is not quite the English word?”
“Unstable?” Clara suggested.
“Maybe that is it. Anyway, the shells, they shook the buildings badly and everything became cracked and wanted to fall down,” Janssen made a whistling noise and brought his hand down on the top of the bar. “The good Fathers, they did not really understand this and they did not make repairs. I think the attic was so bad it was remarkable the floor had not fallen in, and there was a crack big enough to fit your fist in at the rear of the building. It ran up to the second floor!
“This very hotel, you would not know it now, but the whole back wall collapsed. Yes, yes it did. I see you look surprised, but I worked hard to have it fixed. We don’t blame the Fathers, of course, for letting their house get so bad. They were men of God, not of bricks and mortar.”
“Did they play a big role in the town?” Tommy asked when Janssen paused for breath.
“A big part! Monsieur, they were the biggest! Why, they came and brought back our hope. We were so close to just abandoning all this, we thought we had lost. You cannot appreciate our despair,” Janssen tutted to himself. “All was in ruins, so many people homeless, and the Germans seemed to get closer and closer. You have heard about our little shrine to St Helena outside the town? She is the town’s saint. It is said she turned back an army of the English in the days when our peoples could not always agree. That would be many centuries past.
“Every child in the town is raised believing St Helena will give them protection from the enemy. And then, in the last war, it seemed as if she had abandoned us. Our own priest prayed daily to her, but we feared the worst. And then these men of God appear and say they are opening a house of rest for the English troops at the Front and we knew, just knew, that Helena had saved us! For God would not build such a house to see it overrun by Germans!”
Monsieur Janssen beamed with delight.
“There were three priests involved in the project, I believe,” Clara said. “Father Howard, Father Stevens and one other?”
“Father Lound,” Janssen said automatically. “A very nice young man, I liked him a lot. He performed a very moving funeral service for our late mayor.”
“It is remarkable that none of this has been written about,” Colonel Brandt was drinking a glass of brandy as he spoke. “I mean, what an extraordinary thing. Someone should take the time to record all this. It should not just be forgotten.”
“But you are curious?” Janssen said. “Maybe you could write such a book?”
“I am not a writer,” Clara smiled. “But, you are right, I am curious. Ever since I learned about Albion Hope I have wanted to know more.”
That was not a lie, though her exact motives were slightly different.
“I wish more English would come to learn about Albion Hope. It was such a marvellous thing. It did not just help the soldiers, though that was its first goal, it helped us too. That is what made it so fantastical!”
Janssen was somewhat dramatic in his praise, but his point was genuine. Albion Hope had done what its name had suggested, it had brought hope to the people in the town. It had given them the strength to carry on.
“I was thinking of placing a sign near the chateau,” Monsieur Janssen scratched at his chin. “To say this is where Albion Hope was. I think that would be good, yes?”
“Better than seeing it forgotten,” Brandt agreed.
Janssen took a better look at the old colonel.
“Did you serve in the war, Monsieur?”
“Too old,” Brandt snorted. “I was in the military, but my days were long past when this last conflict came.”
Janssen’s eyes strayed to Tommy. They hinted at the same question, but Janssen was diplomatic enough not to ask aloud. Tommy frowned.
“I was in the war,” he said.
He had become depressed again after their arrival in the town. He seemed almost pained. Janssen picked up a glass from behind the bar and filled it with brandy. He passed it to Tommy.
“On the house, monsieur, any drink you have here will be on the house. I owe you my gratitude.”
Tommy looked at the glass, mildly stunned. Then he looked at Janssen. Conflicting emotions played on his face, then he accepted the drink.
“Merci,” he said. “Merci.”
Janssen smiled.
“I am very glad the English came,” he continued. “Very glad. Look, I show you something.”
Janssen hooked his finger and motioned that they ought to follow him. He came out from behind the bar and walked to the wall near his entrance door. Between the wall and the large window next to it he pointed to a mark in the plasterwork.
“This hole, it goes right through,” he pressed his finger into the hole and wriggled it around. “This is the mark left by a German rifleman. The Germans managed to get into our village just the once, they were here but a few hours and then, glory to St Helena, the English came and pushed them back. But here is where a German rifleman tried to shoot my cat. My cat! Poor creature went white overnight from the horror.”
Janssen seemed rather proud of the hole, even if it could have been caused by anything. Clara had her doubts about the cat turning white after the incident, however.
“I leave this hole as a reminder of what happened. I never want to forget the madness this world fell into,” Janssen pressed a hand to his chest and became solemn. “I will never support war and I shall never allow a German to set foot in my hotel. We must never forget what they did.”
Tommy became sombre. Clara decided it was time to move on to a different topic.
“Tell me more about Albion Hope,” she said, hoping to lure Janssen back to his bar.
The ruse worked. He was more than glad to speak of the place which, according to him, had saved his town from complete despair and abandonment.
“Such good men, such good friends,” he purred, pouring himself a glass of some golden spirit. “Father Howard used to come and have a drink with me most days. He spent a lot of time in the trenches helping men find solace in themselves and in God. He carried such a burden with him for the sake of his work. When the war was done, he said he was going to retire to a place called No-Fun-Bear-Land. I thought it a very odd sounding place. Why are the bears allowed no fun there?”
“Northumberland,” Clara interpreted. “It has nothing to do with bears. Is Father Howard still there?”
“Maybe,” Janssen shrugged. “He sends me Christmas cards, but he always forgets to enclose his address, so I can’t send one back.”
“What about Father Stevens? What was he like?”
“Serious,” Janssen pulled a stern face to mimic the priest. “He never smiled. He arranged all the official side of Albion Hope, all the administration. He didn’t deal with the people who came there. He never had a drink with me.”
This, apparently, was a serious crime to Janssen’s way of thinking.
“He was not a bad man, he just could not bring himself to be happy while a war was raging. He stayed in town after the war, to help people return to their old ways and rebuild their lives. That was a great kindness, and he was good at fundraising. Anyway, he moved to France a year or so ago.”
Clara was disappointed. She doubted she would be able to track the man easily if that were the case.
“Then there was Father Lound,” Janssen kept talking happily. “Father Lound seemed so young. I know the girls in the town were fond of him. He was charming, a little handsome too. He preached a good sermon. Not too long or depressing.”
“Where did he move to after the war?” Clara asked, feigning innocence about what really happened to Lound.
Janssen�
�s good humour slipped, he almost winced as he spoke.
“That is a little odd. One day Father Lound just disappeared. No one could say where he went or why. It was a very big mystery,” Janssen hesitated. “There was gossip, rumours.”
“Oh dear,” Clara said, hoping Janssen would elaborate.
“Many people thought he ran off with a woman,” Janssen drummed his fingers on the bar. “That is a pretty bad thing to say of a priest, you know?”
“If they said he had run off with a woman, does that mean a lady from the town was missing too?” Colonel Brandt postulated.
Janssen’s frown deepened.
“That is the oddest thing, there was a lady missing. Madame Deveraux. She was a respected widow. At one time her family had been wealthy, her husband left her a lot of money, but when the Germans came into town they attacked her home, robbed her of everything. She had her husband’s money in a bank, but the Germans raided that too and took all their reserve. There was nothing left,” Janssen clicked his tongue, saddened by the actions of the enemy. “Madame Devereaux became poor overnight, and with four children to support it was very hard, very hard indeed. Her neighbours could only offer her a little help, they too had been hit hard. Madame Devereaux, for the first time in her life, began to work. She could sew a bit and she was prepared to do manual labour on the local farms. Her son was a blessing. Ramon worked hard for the family, he was often doing odd jobs at Albion Hope.
“Madame Devereaux hoped to send her three daughters away to live with an aunt, but it was impossible to arrange the travel. The eldest girl started to keep dubious company. That was what upset people so much. She saw that soldiers on leave had money and would spend it on a pretty girl. Well, we all know where that leads.
“It was all getting very bad. There were suspicions the girl was pregnant. Then, one morning, the Devereauxs were gone. The suspicion was they had disappeared to avoid the shame of the girl’s misfortune. Maybe gone to that aunt they had spoken of. Only later was it realised that Father Lound was missing too.”
