The Kit Aston Mysteries (All Five Books)

by Jack Murray

  Mary smiled tearfully and said in a school-mistressy voice, ‘Esther Cavendish! That’s possibly the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t believe you.’

  Esther grinned and nodded in agreement. Then the silence returned for a few minutes. Finally, Esther looked at her sister and said, ‘You have to tell him.’

  ‘He hates me.’

  ‘Now you’re the one who is being ridiculous, Mary.’

  ‘I could see it in his eyes, Essie. He’ll never forgive me. If anything happens to Harry, he’ll never speak to me again. I mean it, Essie. I don’t think he’ll trust me after this.’

  Esther shook her head in disagreement, ‘It’s not true; he’s not like that. You did the right thing, and he knows it.’

  Mary looked doubtful but did not respond. They sat in silence once more. Esther took out a cigarette from a silver case. Motioning to Mary to take one, her sister shook her head and continued to gaze out of the window.

  A man appeared in the grounds accompanied by a little terrier. Esther grew excited, ‘Mary look! It’s Kit!’

  Mary looked back at her sister and shrugged despondently, ‘So?’

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ exclaimed Esther excitedly. ‘Go!’ She rose from her seat and began to lift Mary from the chair. ‘I mean it, Mary, go!’

  Mary looked at Esther and could see a level of intensity in her older sister’s eyes she had not seen before. Normally Mary was the one to give the orders. She felt confused.

  ‘Quickly for goodness sake.’ Esther was almost shouting in desperation at her and pulling her to the door.

  -

  It felt good to be outside. The air was moist but had lost some of the biting chill from the previous days. Kit strode away from the Hall. Sam trotted happily alongside him. Rather than fetching out towards the usual spot near the wood, he went in the other direction which led towards a brook. It had been covered by the snow for most of the last few days.

  The previous night he’d has trouble sleeping. Partly it was anger and frustration but also, for the first time ever, he had wanted to see the dream again. The more he wanted it, the less able he was to sleep. In the end he’d given up and read. His stared ahead unblinking, letting the profound sorrow he felt for Harry wash over him. His head felt heavy; the cold gripped his muscles, fatiguing him quickly as he walked with Sam. Taking the lead off the little terrier, he bent down and picked up a stick.

  ‘Fetch boy,’ he said, throwing it as far as he could. The little terrier tore off in pursuit but then, on reaching it, lost interest. Kit slowly caught him up and they continued walking.

  So much depended on Chubby now. He realized a continued stay in the house would be impossible while he was waiting for something that could help Harry. He also considered the possibility of leaving Cavendish Hall and going down to London to help. There was nothing more to be done at the Hall except wait and this was proving excruciating. Another part of him did not want to leave.

  The ground underfoot was still a little hard thanks to an overnight frost. Behind him he could hear the crunching sound of footsteps, running towards him. Sam began to bark excitedly. He turned around.

  It was Mary.

  She fell into step beside him but said nothing. Kit had nodded to her but he, too, remained silent. They walked alongside one another for a few minutes. The only sound was Sam’s breathing and the rattle of his lead. Finally, Sam indicated, with a light yelp, a lift was needed. Kit stopped but Mary put a hand on his arm and said, ‘Let me.’

  The little dog seemed eminently pleased with this arrangement and rewarded Mary by licking her face. They both laughed at this, Kit shaking his head, ‘Shameless little beggar.’

  They continued walking towards the brook. Mary asked Kit, ‘You spoke with Charlie?’

  ‘Yes, half an hour ago. He’s going to do some checking for me.’ He stopped and looked at her, ‘If he finds nothing then I might go down to London myself.’

  ‘What are you hoping to find?’ asked Mary.

  Kit shrugged his shoulders, ‘If it’s all right with you, I’d rather not say just now. Sorry.’

  ‘I understand.’

  They continued their journey towards the brook. Mary let Sam down onto the ground and he ran into the water, splashing and barking happily. They both looked at the little dog in silence. Eventually Mary looked up at Kit, ‘Can we talk about Harry?’

  Kit looked at Mary and nodded. He could see her fighting to control the tears but couldn’t think of anything comforting to say. The thought of how she had provided the police with evidence of a motive that could see Harry hanged reverberated in his head. He felt hollow.

  ‘I would give anything to prove Harry innocent. I know how much he means to you.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes, Kit. I know. I know what he did. I know you owe him your life.’

  Kit stared ahead and a voice inside his head said, “Don’t worry, we’ll have you back soon.” He sat down on a fallen tree trunk to rest his leg. It was beginning to hurt. The cold weather did not help.

  Mary sat beside him and watched Sam frolic in the water chasing birds. Kit leant down to rub his leg. ‘Are you alright, Kit?’ asked Mary very concerned.

  Kit shook his head, ‘It’s my leg. Feeling it a bit in this weather.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Eventually Kit reached a decision and said to Mary, ‘I’m sorry Mary, but do you mind if I do something rather awful?’ Sweat was beading his forehead despite the cold. His leg was agony.

  ‘Of course, Kit,’ said Mary putting both her hands on his wrist.

  Kit reached down and rolled up his trouser leg. Slowly he removed the prosthetic limb that made up the bottom part of his leg from the knee down. He set it down on the ground and looked back up at Mary to see her reaction. There was something in her eyes. Sympathy? No, something else.

  ‘You knew?’

  Mary looked at him, tears brimming once more and nodded yes.

  Kit continued, ‘I wasn’t sure who knew. It was not something the War Office wanted to make public, at least not yet. So, I’ve never publicly admitted to it. Close friends knew of course and the brass. Did your grandfather tell you?’

  ‘No.’ This was barely a whisper.

  This surprised Kit. He was curious and asked her, ‘How did you hear?’

  Mary narrowed her eyes and smiled, ‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’

  All at once the air around Kit seemed to evaporate, his mind began to swirl, and his breathing became shallower. His heart beat faster, and he felt light-headed. Mary could see he was pale and looked at him with alarm.

  ‘Kit, is something wrong? You’re very pale.’

  A light breeze had arisen and the sound of it echoed in his ears. After a few moments Kit managed to say falteringly, ‘I’m fine, Mary. Really.’ Looking at Sam playing in the water, he slowly regained his composure. Turning to Mary again, he looked at her for what seemed like the first time. Finally, he whispered, ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘You heard,’ came the faint reply.

  Chapter 28

  8th December 1917: British Casualty Clearing Station, Grévillers, France

  The soldier awoke.

  He opened his eyes, but his vision was blurred although he could sense the movement around him. It was the smell he noticed first. A foul combination of rotting flesh, antiseptic medicines, and soap. The noise was no more welcoming. Groans and screams. The anguish from the wounded men around him was palpable.

  Slowly his eyes became accustomed to the light. His sight remained hazy and he felt as if he were dreaming, such was his sense of unreality and displacement. Movement was difficult. He could feel a throbbing pain in his leg. Looking left and right, he could make out that he was in a hospital. There were beds either side of him and in front. People were moving around; men and women floated past dressed in white medical clothing, stained red.

  After a few minutes his head cleared enough for it to dawn on him: h
e was alive. One other thought formed like a scream in his head. He tried to look but his courage kept failing him. Slowly he remembered the events which had brought him here, but still he dared not look at the extent of his injury. The pain was agonizing.

  Above he could make out what seemed like canvas. He was in a tent, probably a Casualty Clearing Station but he had no idea where. This was a short-term deposit for the wounded before they were moved to hospitals further away from the front line.

  The soldier lay awake for a few minutes. Around him he was conscious of the constant activity as doctors, nurses, orderlies moved around the beds. Stretchers bearing more wounded arrived frequently and some men were taken away. Lifeless. In front, he could see one nurse mopping the floor, moving deliberately in the nominal corridor between the two rows of beds. As she passed the soldier’s bed she stopped and looked at him. Her face was indistinct even when she moved closer.

  The touch of her hand on his forehead made him start. Her hand felt soft, slightly warm. She was saying something to him, but he could not make it out. His ears were ringing. Shaking his head, he tried to speak and could not. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton wool. What was wrong with him? She put her mouth up to his ear and finally he was able to make out what she was saying.

  ‘Try not to move. You might start bleeding again. The bandages won’t hold,’ said the nurse.

  The soldier nodded. She left him for a few minutes and then a doctor came over with the nurse. They consulted for minute in low voices. Following this the doctor put his mouth near to the soldier’s ear.

  ‘Do you understand me?’

  The soldier was confused at this question, he was injured: he hadn’t become an idiot overnight. Still unable to speak clearly, he merely nodded yes.

  ‘Are you a British soldier?’ continued the doctor.

  If the last question had confused him, this made him angry. He nodded his head more vigorously. As he did so, it occurred to him why they were asking these questions. The doctor was saying something else.

  ‘I’m sorry but you have been seriously injured. We will move you in the next day to a field hospital. Please try not to move.’ The soldier nodded in response to the voice in his ear felt like he was in a different room.

  The nurse put a glass to his mouth, and he felt water trickling down his throat. She was well practiced at this and he was able to drink without choking. The doctor seemed to nod to her and left. In the meantime, she mopped his forehead with a rag. He felt feverish and soon the pain became unbearable. Slowly he slipped out of consciousness.

  -

  The trench was barely yards away. It looked like they were going to make it. The man carrying him was panting heavily from the weight and the effort. Then he heard the explosion and the man carrying him collapsed to the ground. He collapsed on top of the man. Ahead he saw the British trench. It was so close. He could see some men climbing out of the trench. They were coming towards him. The first man was an officer. All of a sudden, his head became a grotesque, bloody mask as a bullet exited from his cheek.

  -

  The soldier woke from the dream and groaned. He couldn’t see anything. For a few minutes he lay staring at the ceiling of the tent. As his eyes grew more accustomed to the light, it became apparent he was still in the same place. A figure came towards him. It was a nurse, but he could not make out if it was the same one. She put her hand on his forehead. He recognized her touch.

  A glass was put to his lips and he drank thirstily, coughing a little because of his desire to consume so quickly. The nurse wiped his mouth and the soldier managed to say, ‘Thank you.’

  For the first time he felt his voice seemed stronger and the nurse heard him. She stood up and left him for a few minutes before returning with a doctor. The soldier felt his pulse being taken and then was aware of the consultation happening about him. The pain in his leg was throbbing but not as intense as previously. He looked up and said falteringly, ‘Anything I should know?’

  The doctor left, and the nurse sat down beside him and mopped his head. When she had finished, she set the rag down on a small bedside table. The soldier moved his arm and little and felt for the nurse’s hand. Finding it he took hold of her hand and weakly shook it.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said faintly.

  Although it was difficult to focus on her face, he could see she was smiling. Her hand felt so soft he was reluctant to let go, so he continued to hold it. The nurse did not stop him.

  ‘The other soldier? What happened to him?’ he asked after a few moments.

  The nurse put her mouth to his ear and said, ‘He’s alive. He wasn’t badly hurt. Scratches really.’

  A tear rolled down the side of the soldier’s cheek and he fought hard to contain his emotion. The nurse used the rag to mop his cheek with her free hand.

  ‘My eyes. I can’t see very well; did something happen to them?’ he asked after a few moments.

  ‘We weren’t sure if you had suffered any ocular lesions due to exposure to gas. We gave you some eye drops as a precaution. The morphine will also be affecting your vision; we’ve had to give you frequent doses,’ she replied into his ear. ‘We don’t think your eyes have been affected, but your vision might be impaired for a day or two.‘

  ‘And my leg? It’s not good, is it?’

  The nurse was silent. He looked up and could make out her free hand rubbing her eyes. Finally, she replied in his ear, ‘No, I’m sorry. There was nothing they could do.’

  ‘I understand,’ he whispered. ‘I’m sorry to put everyone to such trouble.’

  The nurse continued to hold his hand. They were both silent for a while. The soldier contemplated what his life would be like now. The pain was relentless, however the morphine was doing its job and making things bearable. Strangely, he felt he could wiggle his toes.

  ‘You are very kind to stay with me like this,’ said the soldier finally.

  ‘I don’t mind. I’ll have to go soon, though. Sorry.’

  For the next few minutes, she gave mopped his brow and gave him some water. After this she inspected the wound but decided to leave it. Replacing the blanket over his leg she told him that she would return.

  He stayed awake for another hour but eventually gave way to sleep.

  -

  He awoke to the sound of screaming in the next bed. A doctor, a nurse and an orderly were all holding down a young soldier. All of them were covered in blood.

  Another day. He was still alive. A good sign and then he felt the pain in his leg. It was brighter inside the tent, yet he had no idea what time it was. His vision was still blurred, and he was unable to focus on the people walking up and down the corridor between the beds. The smell was still bad, but he had become accustomed to it.

  The soldier in the next bed to him had stopped screaming. He was whimpering now. Glancing over to him he could see how, in all probability, he had lost both legs. Poor devil, he thought. The doctor and the nurse left him and came over.

  ‘I see you’re awake. We shall be moving you later today. Unfortunately, we’re running short of beds and it looks like you’re well enough to travel,’ said the doctor.

  The soldier smiled grimly and said, ‘I’ll just pack my things then.’ The doctor was already moving on as another soldier was crying out in anguish. The nurse remained behind, however and sat down beside him.

  ‘We’ll make you ready for the ambulance,’ said the nurse. The soldier recognized her voice. His hearing was still affected by the ringing from the bombs; however, he could tell a little bit more about her from the way she spoke. It was clear she came from a wealthy background.

  ‘You don’t sound like a nurse,’ said the soldier.

  ‘Well, I’m not allowed to be a doctor for some reason, so I’m a nurse. Would I sound more credible if I were your doctor?’

  ‘I believe you would,’ laughed the soldier before breaking into a coughing. ‘I’ve heard voices like yours elsewhere. Feels like a lifetime ago.’ He s
quinted at her but still could not get a clear picture of how she looked. The nursing cap covered her head, so it was not possible to see the colour of her hair.

  The nurse did not reply to this but instead put some water to his lips and said she would bring some food. Putting her hand to his forehead she said, ‘Your fever is well down now. You’re definitely fit to go. Are you feeling a lot of pain?’

  He was in great pain. His leg was in agony and all he wanted to do was scream. He replied, ‘Only my heart. Must I leave you?’ He smiled despite the pain and it was apparent she was smiling also.

  ‘I’m sorry nurse, I don’t think I ever caught your name.’

  There was a hesitation then the nurse replied, ‘Tanner. Nurse Tanner.’

  ‘You seem unsure,’ said the soldier.

  The nurse laughed at this but said nothing. Finally, the soldier persisted a bit more. ‘Am I allowed to know your first name?’

  She seemed reluctant but finally relented and said, ‘It’s Mary.’

  ‘Mary Tanner,’ said the soldier, ‘I shall remember you. I just wish I could see you better.’

  ‘Indeed, but this brings us to an interesting subject,’ replied the nurse.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, what exactly is your name? You were carrying three sets of identity cards. One Russian, one German and one British. On the one hand you could be a Mr Alex Chekov, on the other Herr Klaus Adler or, finally, Simon Page.’

  ‘Yes, I can see how this might appear a little strange,’ admitted the soldier.

  ‘You could say that. We weren’t sure if you were British.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘I know,’ laughed the nurse, ‘This much is apparent.’

  ‘Can you do me a great favour, Mary? Can you get in contact with Major Roger Ratcliff? Please tell him that you have Simon Page in your care.’

  ‘Simon Page. Is this really your name?’ asked the nurse, sceptically.

  The soldier smiled and said, ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’