by Charles Todd
I couldn’t help my own response. This encounter had been too sudden, too unexpected, and we both knew, he and I, that I’d recognized him in the same instant he’d recognized me.
He had killed four people that I knew of. How many more I couldn’t say.
But those four were enough.
I walked on, half expecting him to stand up, walk out of the café, and follow me. But at the corner of the next street, when I looked back, there was no one behind me except for two elderly women in black, struggling to carry a tub of washed clothes between them.
Either I was no longer a danger to him or he was too close to whatever objective drove him to take the risk of killing me now. But why sail for England if the Prince of Wales was scheduled to come to France?
At the Base Hospital, I looked for Trelawney, but I was told he’d taken the motorcar down to the quay. The Chief Engineering Officer had sent word that it could be stowed aboard now.
I hurried after him, but he was nowhere to be seen. One of Merlin’s officers was coming through the gate, and I went to speak to him, asking if he’d seen my driver and my motorcar.
“The Chief is haggling with him now,” he told me, grinning. “He wants the tires for his own motor, at home in Chichester.”
I had to laugh. Good luck to him, getting the best of a Cornishman.
Thanking the officer, I moved off a little to wait for Trelawney to disembark, but he and the Chief Engineer must have moved past haggling and were swapping stories now.
Looking at the collection of people hanging about the port, I saw no sign of the Major from the café. It was possible he wasn’t on Merlin, but if he was here in Rouen, he would have to land in Portsmouth sometime. I had only to get there first and wait.
I was tired of standing, waiting, but I dared not leave until I’d found Trelawney. Finally, after I’d nearly given up twice, he came off the ship and saw me as he passed through the gates.
“She’s as snug as can be,” he told me, pleased with himself. “I saw her tied down myself. There was just room for her aft.”
“I’m glad. Trelawney, I found the man we’ve been looking for. He was in a café halfway between the cathedral and the Base Hospital. I doubt he’s there now. He saw me as clearly as I saw him, but he didn’t follow me. And that reminds me, Hugh Morton is in the cathedral. I’m going to try to get him aboard.”
“A deserter?” he demanded, aghast. “Sister—you can’t mean it!”
I said, “I won’t be the one to hand him over to be shot.”
“I have no such qualms,” he told me.
“But you will do as I tell you. It’s more important to find this Major than it is to see Morton in irons.”
“Bloody coward,” he muttered, then realizing that I’d heard, he begged pardon.
“Nevertheless,” I said. “This you will do for me. My reasons are sound.”
He said nothing for a moment, then changed the subject. “What do we do, if he’s on this ship? This man you’re after?”
“The Captain is a friend. I’ll ask that he be held until my father can come to meet the ship.”
“He’ll do that?”
“Yes,” I said with far more assurance than I felt.
Trelawney nodded. “And if he’s not on board?”
“I think he’ll come to Portsmouth within a day or two. He has the orders he needed. It’s only a matter of time. What’s more, we’ll have a chance to prepare. He won’t get away in England. He mustn’t.”
“I was told he might be looking to kill the Prince of Wales.”
“I don’t know,” I said, uncertainty loud in my voice. “There’s something he intends to do. Or else he would stay in France.”
“Makes sense, doesn’t it?” Trelawney agreed. “He doesn’t know me. Why don’t you go aboard alone, and I’ll watch until the last minute?”
“Yes, all right. But be very careful. He’s killed four people that I know of. He won’t be taken by surprise. If he even suspects you’ve recognized him, he has a choice. Kill again or wait for another ship. And waiting would be far more dangerous.”
He said, “I’ll leave you then. What about Morton?”
“If he reaches the ship, I’ll put him with the wounded on board. Ah—here comes the first of the ambulances.”
And indeed it was making its slow approach to the port.
Trelawney disappeared, there one minute and invisible the next. I scanned the dozen or so onlookers, and I saw no one I recognized.
I had to collect my valise, and I hurried back to the Base Hospital for it. I was just leaving with it, thanking the duty nurse for the hospitality shown me, when I saw ahead of me a man in the uniform of a British officer, his back to me, but there was something familiar about his shoulders and the way he walked.
And then I realized where I’d seen him before.
He wasn’t the man with the bandaged shoulder who’d gone into the makeshift canteen just a few yards from the shed where the dead were taken. He had been the orderly carrying a mop and pail. The orderly Sister Burrows must have stopped and asked to bring fresh sheets to the ward. I’d been trained to observe—and so had she. I didn’t think I was mistaken.
I followed at a distance, making certain that I wasn’t where he might glimpse me in a shop window. Soldiers saluted him as they passed, and I tried to judge whether he was actually an officer—or a private soldier masquerading as one. I came to the conclusion he was a sergeant, for his back was ramrod straight, and his officer’s cap didn’t have that jaunty angle I saw so often. Rather, it sat squarely.
As if he felt my scrutiny, he turned and looked back the way he’d come, but a party of sappers had just cut across my path, and I was shielded by them. When they had passed, he was walking on again.
I tried to judge if he was British or German, but it was impossible to be sure. And someone sent to spy or act as an assassin would have been carefully chosen for his ability to fit in. Even his voice would be suitable, his English more than acceptable.
He’d reached the ship. I stopped to gaze at a window of cheeses, my back to him, and let him board. Apparently his papers passed inspection, and when I looked again, he was nowhere in sight.
Someone took my arm, and I nearly leapt out of my skin.
I turned quickly, prepared to scream if need be.
It was Hugh Morton.
“Would you have waited for me?” he asked. “Or left me in the organ loft?”
“I had other worries. But yes, I would have come. Trelawney is aboard with the motorcar, and there’s someone I didn’t want to encounter just ahead of me. He’ll be on the same vessel.”
“The officer you were following?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for him. He won’t know me.”
“That would be helpful,” I said. “But he’s not a fool. You must be very careful.”
He gave me that one-sided grin, his eyes all but crossed, his mouth drooping. “I told you. People don’t see the afflicted,” he said. “They’re too uncomfortable to look at.” It was a perceptive remark.
Just then more ambulances turned in toward the port, and I took Hugh Morton with me to add to the queue, explaining to the sister in charge, God forgive me, that he had been left off the list.
He was ordered on board with the others, and at the end of the long line, I myself handed over my own papers. I didn’t see the man I’d been following, but I thought perhaps he was taking care not to be in plain sight, just in case someone could identify him—or inform the port authorities that he wasn’t who he claimed to be. The only other possibility was that he wasn’t on Merlin at all, that he was scheduled to depart on the ship just tying up behind her, and he’d come early to keep out of sight.
In due course, Merlin was given leave to sail, the lines were hauled in, dripping wet, and coiled neatly on the fore and aft decks. I stayed by the rail, looking out over the city, watching the flashes of the guns in the distance. My father remembered
France from well before the war, and I wondered if it would ever look again as it had then.
The ship eased into the current, then turned to steam slowly down toward the sea. The night was dark, the running lights masked, and as I looked up to the bridge, I could see Captain Grayson’s profile, tense and focused on what lay ahead.
He had given me his cabin for the voyage, as he wouldn’t be using it as long as Merlin went in harm’s way.
Indeed, as soon as we reached the sea, word was passed that we were being shadowed by a submarine, and the watch was doubled. The rating who came to my door was young but steady, assuring me that we were safe. But of course I knew otherwise, having sailed on Britannic. It was a long journey, seemingly longer than the usual, nerves stretched almost to the breaking point as we waited for the shout of “Torpedo!” My life vest was too warm but I kept it on, in case.
We reached the shelter of the Isle of Wight without being attacked, and Portsmouth Harbor lay ahead. I slipped out on deck to watch us come in, standing in the shadows, where I wouldn’t be in the way or noticed.
But someone had seen me.
Out of nowhere, someone put hands on me, thrust a canvas bag over my head before I could scream or struggle, and then I was being dragged toward the railing.
It had happened so fast—a matter of seconds—and then I was being lifted over the railing, my muffled cries covered by the racket of the heavy anchor cable paying out as we came into the roads to await a berth.
I could feel myself dangling now, no foothold or handhold, and unable to see, I couldn’t tell where to reach out and save myself.
And just as suddenly I was being pulled up so roughly that I struck my head on the teak railing, seeing stars in the blackness of the bag. I landed on deck with such force I was winded, and then as I reached shakily for the bag, someone stepped on my skirts. I realized that just above me, two men were locked in a fierce struggle. Only their feet were visible, and I quickly rolled out of the way.
As the heavy bag fell away, I could see their shapes. One in an officer’s uniform, the other in the distinctive blue worn by Base Hospital patients. They were surprisingly well matched in size and reach. But Morton’s hip wound put him at a disadvantage, unable to keep his balance on the moving deck. He was quickly losing the battle, pushed until his own back was hard against the rail, and as I watched, the other man rammed his knee into Morton’s groin and hip.
The crew, busy with docking, had no time for us, but two orderlies had just come on deck from below. If they saw him fighting with an officer, he would be taken up for the offense. I could do nothing then.
He had saved me.
I still had my little pistol in my pocket. Scrambling to my feet, dizzy at first, and then quite determined, I brought it out, aimed, and fired.
The shot seemed so loud in our ears that we froze where we were. Morton turned his head to look at me, stunned, and in his grip I could see his attacker’s eyes incandescent. I wondered how anyone could have described them as cold.
A trickle of blood began to run down the side of the man’s face where my bullet had grazed his skull. With an oath he let go of Morton, turned, and stumbled away, disappearing down the nearest companionway as three ratings converged on Morton and me, alerted by the shot.
They caught his arms, pinning him, and I realized that they thought he’d been attacking me. I shoved the pistol into my pocket, and pointed over the railing.
“There!” I shouted. “Someone just tried to climb aboard. Look!”
They held on to Morton but ran for the railing, staring down into the dark, swirling waters. I joined them, pointing down the side of the ship now. “Over there. Stop him!”
Leaving Morton where he was, they raced along the railing, still searching for the intruder, shouting to the watch to ask if anyone could be seen.
I took Morton’s arm. “Quickly. Get back to the wards. What were you thinking, coming on deck like this?” Trelawney had warned me Morton might try to escape.
“I told you I’d keep an eye out for him. He was searching the ship, and I watched him. I didn’t see you there in the shadows, and then he had you pinned and was tossing you over the side.” He leaned against the companion doorway wearily, hurting. “I don’t want to be sent to hospital. I want to go home.”
It was blackmail.
Hugh Morton had saved my life.
“I’ll see to it. Go find Trelawney and tell him what happened. He’ll be readying the motorcar. Don’t leave him.”
“But the Major’s somewhere still. He’ll find you again and I won’t be there.”
“Not now. There are too many men on deck. Go, before they come back to question you.”
Reluctantly he did as he was told.
I went back to Captain Grayson’s cabin, and a moment later, the Second Officer knocked, asking around the door, “You saw someone trying to come aboard? Is it true?”
“He was wearing an officer’s uniform. He fired at me.”
“Gentle God,” he said, and disappeared again.
A false rumor, but there was nothing else to be done. Otherwise I’d have had to explain why I’d shot a British Major with a pistol I was not supposed to possess. I’d be detained while the Major disappeared.
I poured water from the Captain’s carafe onto my handkerchief and held it to my aching head, where it had come in contact with the railing. I didn’t think I was concussed, but it had been a hard blow all the same and I could feel the swelling under my hair.
I could hear racing feet and shouting for a while longer, and then the same officer returned to tell me that they’d found no one, and whoever it was had presumably either drowned or swum back to the port. The authorities there had been alerted to watch for him.
I was asked if I could identify the intruder, but I shook my head. “It all happened so quickly—by the time I’d realized what he was doing, he’d disappeared over the side again.”
It was tempting to catch the Major in this net of lies. But his uniform was dry, they would never believe he’d come out from shore.
“You’re a brave woman, Sister Crawford. Who was the patient who came to your aid?”
“I didn’t stay to ask, I came directly back to my cabin.”
He nodded. “Very wise.”
As the door shut behind him, I found myself wondering what on earth my father would say, when he learned I’d thwarted a would-be boarder who didn’t exist, rescued an unreported deserter who did, and shot a purported British officer in the head.
Soon afterward the anchor came up again, we tied up to the dock, and Trelawney was at my door, reporting that the motorcar had been offloaded.
“What have you done with Private Morton?”
“He’s in the motorcar. The sister in charge was glad to be rid of him. It seems he’d wandered the ship all night, alarming the other patients and mumbling unintelligible drivel.”
After I’d thanked Captain Grayson and accepted his apology for the fright I’d had, I prepared to leave Merlin.
I’d asked earlier if he would signal Portsmouth as soon as possible to ask if my father could be summoned. He told me now that my father was in London and couldn’t be reached.
I was on my own, then.
Trelawney escorted me off the ship and to the waiting motorcar, and with my papers in hand, we left the harbor behind. Just outside gates, in the street where once my father and I had considered what to do about the charges against me, Trelawney and I conferred.
“I saw him leave Merlin just ahead of us,” Trelawney told me. “I marked where he was heading. Did you give him that bloody crease? Every time he wears his cap, that’s going to hurt.” There was no pity in his tone.
“We’ve got to find him,” I said, knowing how impossible that would be. “We can’t let him disappear into the countryside.”
“There’s the train,” Trelawney said doubtfully. “Crowded and slow. In his shoes I’d look for a motorcar.”
And where better to
find one unattended than the ship officers’ billet.
Leaves were short, and a motorcar could make the difference between reaching London or one’s family in time to spend a few hours with them or wasting it in Portsmouth.
Trelawney, at my direction, quickly found the nearest billets.
As we got there, several motorcars were heading out of the nearby mews, and Trelawney counted rapidly, “Naval uniform. Naval uniform. Naval again. Army. That one. And I saw his bloody eyes.”
There was no way to conceal Hugh Morton’s bulk, but I had made myself as small as I could, taking off my cap so that I couldn’t be seen as easily. And so I trusted Trelawney’s assessment, and as our motorcar turned at the end of the mews to follow, I said, “I wish I’d had the chance to telephone someone.”
“Too late now, Sister,” Trelawney answered. “All right, you can sit up again. He can’t see you, he’s too far ahead.”
We kept a discreet distance, which was fairly easy as the sun rose and we wove in and out of convoys heading down to the port. The green hilly landscape of Hampshire rose beyond the town, and the road to London was just ahead.
But our quarry didn’t take it.
Instead he turned west, toward Dorset.
Here it was more difficult to stay within sight of the other vehicle. The roads now followed the curve of the land rather than a Roman rule, and there were villages stretched out along it like tiny jewels on a necklace. The problem was, we couldn’t always be sure our quarry hadn’t stopped at one of them or turned off. It wasn’t until we were on the far side of each that we could pick out the glint of the sun on his boot in the distance or actually glimpse his motorcar rounding a bend far ahead.
My head was thundering and we were all three tired and thirsty and on edge for fear of losing the Major.
And then, as we were coming down a long sloping hill, we saw in the distance that he’d turned into a lane lined with hawthorn trees, leafy now, their white blooms long since faded.
At the far end of the lane we could just pick out the chimneys of a house.
It made no sense. Was this where the Major was intending to go? Or had he spotted us and tried to throw us off?
