For my part, I had never been a very strong swimmer, and the water was positively frigid. So I soon elected to return to the boat, settling onto one of the deck chairs with a large towel snuggled around me. Mabel eagerly followed, and we lay reclined side by side, soaking up the warmth of the sun. The crew obligingly brought us drinks and Mabel her cigarette case, and I was quite content to have abandoned the others to their splashing and laughter.
“I hate to admit it, but she may have had the right of it from the start,” Mabel remarked, nodding toward Nellie, where she lounged a few chairs away, her eyes closed in what appeared to be slumber. “But one has to humor Helen and her schemes.”
“She seems very lively,” I remarked.
Mabel nodded, taking a drag on her fag. “Always has been. Even when she was under her father’s thumb. He wasn’t the sort to appreciate a spirited daughter.”
“I can imagine.” My mother was much the same sort of parent, always chiding me for my vibrant nature. Some of that exuberance had been diminished by the war, but I was still far too animated for her liking.
She shrugged. “But I suppose it doesn’t matter now. He’s gone, and she can pretty much do as she likes.” She tilted her head toward me conspiratorially. “Her trustees are rather easily persuaded to her side of things, particularly now that she’s engaged to a war hero.” She closed her eyes, turning her face up toward the sun. “I think that’s the real reason why she didn’t invite any of her father’s family except Nellie. She didn’t want to risk them voicing their disapproval and cutting off her purse strings before she was wed.”
“And she doesn’t think Nellie will do the same thing?”
“Oh, she knows she will. But Nellie’s reputation is already tarnished amongst that august clan, and so her words aren’t likely to be heeded.”
I glanced at my childhood friend, curious whether she could hear us, but her expression remained unruffled, her body in repose. I felt a slight pulse of sympathy for her, knowing how little she must like being considered the black sheep of her family. Rebellion had never been in her nature. It was one of the reasons we had clashed so often as children.
“It’s silly, isn’t it?” I said. “As if thousands of unwed women didn’t find themselves compromised during the war, courtesy of one of our soldiers home on leave. A simple seeking and giving of comfort to one another. I’m sure had Sidney and I not already wed, given the opportunity, we would have behaved likewise.”
“It didn’t just happen at home,” Mabel interjected, reaching over to tap the ash off the end of her cigarette into the tray set on the table between our chairs. “More than one of my fellow nurses found herself in a delicate situation. And we were watched like a hawk by the sisters.” She shook her head. “I still don’t know how they managed it.”
Having witnessed her cool head earlier in the day when confronted with Jimmy’s body, I wasn’t surprised to hear she had served as a nurse during the war. She seemed to possess the perfect temperament for it—calm, efficient, no-nonsense. “Where were you assigned?” I couldn’t help asking, curious whether she might have cared for any of the men in the Thirtieth.
“For most of the war I was at a field hospital near Albert.” She lifted her glass to her mouth, but then paused before taking a drink, as if considering something. “I was familiar with your husband, actually.”
I blinked in surprise, not having expected such a thing. Was everyone at this benighted party acquainted with my husband?
“He would stop by the hospital from time to time when at rest to check on his men and their injuries.” Mabel grimaced as she swallowed the remainder of her drink and then set it aside. “And I helped stitch up his leg after it was gouged by that shrapnel.”
“What do you mean?” I asked in confusion.
She turned to look at me, her brow furrowed. “Did he not explain? A shell landed near where he was stationed in the trenches. Ripped that hole in his leg and nicked him a few other places. But all in all, he was rather lucky.”
I continued to stare at her in bewilderment, for I had never seen any wounds on Sidney’s legs. At least, none as significant as those that would have been inflicted if he’d been hit by shrapnel. “When was this?”
“I . . . I can’t recall exactly,” she answered hesitantly, and I could tell from her expression that she wished she’d never said anything. “It must have been sometime after the Battle of Cambrai in late 1917.” She studied the end of her cigarette. “But before spring. I remember it was bitter cold that week. We had difficulty keeping anything warm. A few of the taps even froze.” Her dark eyes lifted to meet mine expectantly. “I believe he was sent home for a short leave after he’d healed enough that the doctors weren’t afraid his wound would reopen.”
“Oh. Then it must have happened just before the holidays,” I replied in some relief, for that had been the last time Sidney had been given leave before his death. The last time I’d seen him. Though I still didn’t recall any shrapnel wounds, and I was certain I would have. Sidney had never felt any shame when it came to his body, rather justifiably. And he was always quite thorough and energetic when it came to matters of the boudoir, even right up until the end. If he had suffered from any physical pain or twinges, I would have noticed.
But maybe that was one of the reasons he’d been acting so strangely. Maybe I hadn’t recognized his wound for what it was. His body had been riddled with any number of cuts, insect bites, and bruises. Perhaps somehow I had overlooked it, and not wanting to alarm me he hadn’t mentioned it.
However, Mabel extinguished that small bit of hope. “No, it couldn’t have been then. I was on leave for a few weeks in December myself. This occurred about a month later.”
A hollow space began to open up inside me. “You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“You couldn’t have mixed up Sidney with another soldier?” I asked, wanting to find some way to refute what she was saying.
“No, I’m certain it was him.” Her gaze was concerned. “Why?”
I shook my head. “I . . . I’m just surprised I missed it, that’s all.”
Mabel was perceptive enough not to pry further, even though it must have been obvious I was lying. I stared forlornly out at the seagulls wheeling across the sky as I tried to come to grips with the implication of what she’d just told me.
For if Sidney had been given leave a short time before he was killed, he had not come home to me. But why? Where could he have gone? And did it have anything to do with the allegations my mysterious letter writer had made against him?
My stomach pitched. Or had my husband simply not cared to see me?
I turned my head to the side, wanting to hide my heartbreak. Which was how I caught sight of the vicious little smirk curling Nellie’s mouth even as she continued to feign sleep.
CHAPTER 10
“Verity, come join us,” Helen called across the lawn from where she wielded a croquet mallet. Dressed in a frock of ivory georgette crepe with two deep bands of peach seif and a matching hat tipped jauntily on her head, she looked fresh and lovely.
I descended the terrace steps, my own mauve taffeta dress with ivory lace swishing about my legs. A handful of other guests had congregated about her to try their hand at the game. The heavy clouds we had noticed earlier gathering in the west, their ominous appearance having chased the yacht back to the island, now completely blotted out the sun. But it appeared as if the rain would continue to hold for at least a bit longer.
Still smarting from Mabel’s revelation and feeling troubled by all the other events of the day, I’d thought to remain in my room until dinner, determined to decode the hidden missive inside Sidney’s book. However, frustration had overtaken me, and it had become evident I was in no frame of mind to concentrate on such an intense and fraught task. So instead I’d gone in search of distraction, hoping I might learn something helpful from the others, as well as avoid some of the more uncomfortable emotions swirling about inside me
.
For the truth was, discovering that Sidney had not come home during his last leave had made me doubt his innocence more than ever. I wanted to persuade myself that Mabel could have been mistaken, that she’d mixed up the dates or her patients, but the little I knew of her told me that was unlikely. Instead, I must face the fact he’d chosen to spend his leave elsewhere. And that elsewhere could have something to do with my mysterious correspondent’s allegations against him of treason.
I didn’t want to believe it was possible, but it was becoming harder and harder to dismiss the fact that my husband had been behaving oddly those last few months before he died. Even his letters hadn’t sounded like him. It was almost as if he worried I would notice this, because he’d begun sending me more Field Service Postcards than actual letters to keep me apprised of his status. At the time, I’d convinced myself he must be involved in heavy fighting, and too exhausted between engagements to write letters. Or that he had been privately battling a bout of frazzled nerves, or worse, shell shock. But now I wasn’t so sure.
Clutching my cream short-brimmed hat to my head against a sudden gust of wind, I leapt over a small divot in the otherwise immaculate lawn and took stock of the other players. Max was present, along with Felix and Charlie, and Helen’s friend Elsie, who flitted around the gentlemen like a bee gathering nectar. Despite the gentlemen present, I wasn’t surprised to find Gladys missing. She had looked a little rather worse for wear when we returned to the castle, and I suspected the choppy sea, as well as the large quantity of gin she’d consumed, had disagreed with her.
“You are a godsend,” Helen proclaimed. “We need six players, or else one of us shall be forced to sit out. So you see you simply must join in.”
“Well, who am I to naysay our hostess,” I replied, accepting the mallet Felix passed to me.
Helen dimpled and swiveled to glance at the others, making her skirt flare outward. “Hear that, everyone. You should all take notes.”
We laughed.
“Well, then. Whose team am I on?” I asked.
Felix smirked, leaning on his mallet. “How about ladies versus gentlemen?”
Helen and I exchanged an arch look, for it was clear that Felix didn’t think we would be much of a challenge.
“Suits me,” she declared flippantly.
“Me, as well,” I chimed in, fed up with being Felix’s teammate after our tennis match the day before.
The men won the coin toss and elected to go first. It swiftly became apparent that Felix and Max were skilled players, if a bit rusty. I couldn’t help but wonder whether either of them had played since before the war. Charlie, on the other hand, was not so adept. Though, given Elsie’s ineptness, that only meant the teams were more evenly matched.
But to Charlie’s credit, he did seem rather distracted. His gaze scoured the gardens or stared up at the windows on the upper floors of the castle, as if seeing something the rest of could not. I tried to score shots off of his ball whenever I could, hoping to distract him from whatever was troubling him and draw him out. It was evident he was still concerned about Jimmy’s absence, and I felt another prick of guilt that we had not revealed the truth to him. Perhaps it would be best to pull him aside later and tell him about Jimmy’s apparent suicide. I would ask Max his opinion on the matter, for he also seemed to be going out of his way to be kind to the younger man. Or maybe it just seemed so when compared to Felix’s sly insults.
Regardless, Charlie didn’t seem to notice much of what either of them said. However, whenever I attempted to speak with him it was a different matter.
“I wonder how long it will rain,” I murmured, gazing up at the clouds as we waited for Elsie to take her next shot.
“I . . . I don’t know.” His eyes shifted from side to side as if looking for escape while his hands twisted round and round the handle of his mallet.
“Where I grew up, in the Dales, it would sometimes rain for days and days. Oh, I do hope that’s not the case here. I should hate for Helen and Walter’s party to be washed out. But I suppose we’re lucky it has held off this long.”
I turned toward Charlie, whose mouth had curled into a strained smile. Clearly my presence unsettled him, but why?
Tilting my head, I gestured toward him with my mallet. “And where do you hail from, Mr. Montague.”
He swallowed. “Faversham.”
“Near Canterbury?”
“Yes.”
“I believe Sidney had a great-aunt who lived near there,” I remarked, knowing full well his only great-aunt resided in Wales.
Charlie fidgeted, tapping his mallet awkwardly against the side of his shoe.
“But I’m sure he doubtless mentioned her to you.”
He shook his head.
“No? Well, I imagine the matter never came up. You must have certainly had better things to talk about,” I remarked breezily, pivoting to watch as Max tapped his ball through a hoop.
“We didn’t talk much,” Charlie retorted, his words snapping from his lips in that peculiar monotone he used. I couldn’t tell if he was lying or he was always this fretful.
“You’re playing dirty, Verity,” Felix called out playfully, though the look in his eyes was far from jovial. “Quit trying to rattle ole Charlie.”
“I’m only making conversation,” I replied. “There is no ‘rattling’ of any kind going on.”
But Charlie belied my words, mumbling something breathlessly to himself that I only partially heard, though I leaned toward him to try to catch it.
“What was that, Charlie?”
“‘. . . resist the devil, and he will flee from you.’”
Then he dropped his mallet and strode off toward the castle.
“Charlie?” I called after him in concern, then when it became apparent he wasn’t coming back, in astonishment. “Charlie, wait. Where are you going?”
I hardly knew what to say to the others. I hadn’t meant to send him running from me. And what on earth did those last few words mean? Was he referring to me as the devil? But why?
“No rattling, indeed,” Felix accused, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Oh, leave her be,” Max told him with a frown. “You know she didn’t do anything to upset him. Charlie’s always been a bit . . . erratic.”
Felix’s eyes narrowed as he watched Charlie disappear inside the castle. “And I suppose being forced to talk to the widow of the man you practically worshipped doesn’t help either.”
I stiffened as his gaze swiveled to meet mine.
“Not that Sidney ever returned any of those feelings,” he hastened to add, though the malicious glint in his eyes never faded.
Max stepped forward, his brow thunderous. “Halbert, that’s quite uncalled for.”
“Oh, stuff it,” Felix scoffed. “I didn’t insult her husband. It’s not his fault the young pup believed the sun rose and set with him, even though it was clear he was besotted with his wife. That’s what comes of having German blood. You know his grandparents were Huns.”
“What utter nonsense,” Helen interjected cuttingly. “My stepfather was a German, and the best man I’ve ever known.” She paused, pushing a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “Save Walter, of course.”
I noted her snapping eyes and high color, surprised by her defense of those with German blood despite the fact that most of society derided it. Even the king had changed their surname from Saxe-Coburg-Gotha to Windsor in order to distance himself from his German ancestors and cousins. I also had German relatives, in particular a great-aunt whom I adored, and second cousins who had fought and died for the Kaiser, so I didn’t share in the general public’s disgust of all things Germanic either. Perhaps Helen wasn’t such a naïve match for Walter after all.
But Felix was not so impressed. “Yes, Walter.” He glanced about him. “Where is he, by the way? He’s missing all the fun yet again.” His voice lowered in mock concern. “Is his leg giving him a spot of trouble?”
Helen lifted o
ne perfectly arched eyebrow in disdain. “Actually, he’s allergic to bee stings, so he rarely ventures into the gardens. None of us would fault him for that, now would we?”
This was news to me, though as his close friend I expected Sidney must have known. I’d simply assumed Walter was dealing with the authorities and their inquiry into Jimmy’s suicide. After all, his butler had been waiting for him when we returned to the pier, conferring with him on some matter before they set off toward the quay, where the authorities had most likely docked.
Felix rolled his eyes and turned away, swinging his mallet at one of the croquet balls and sending it careening off toward a stand of flowering bushes. Then he dropped his mallet and went striding off toward the sea.
Elsie’s feet shuffled sideways toward the house. “I . . . I think I should go look in on Gladys.”
Helen sighed. “It’s all right, darling. I believe our match is at a standstill.” She glanced up at the leaden sky. “Perhaps we’ll have time to finish tomorrow.”
Before the house party ended and we all left Umbersea Island to return home.
I frowned. And yet, my anonymous letter writer had still not stepped forward to explain why exactly I had been lured here.
Almost as if he’d read my thoughts, Max moved to my side. “It looks as if the storm will hold off a little while longer,” he murmured softly, with his eyes on the horizon beyond the trees. “Would you care to stroll with me?”
He turned his head to meet my probing gaze and my heart kicked in my chest. Was this it, then? Was he my shadowy correspondent?
“Yes, I would like that,” I somehow managed to say.
He dipped his head once in acknowledgment.
We followed the path we had taken earlier in the day to collect our bicycles for the tour of the island, but rather than head west, deeper into the island, we turned our steps eastward. A tall Tudor-style gatehouse marked the edge of the castle’s property, through which we could see a dusty track leading down toward the small cluster of buildings along the island’s main quay. Max asked if I would like to see them, but I shook my head, sensing that this conversation required privacy, and I wasn’t certain we would find it on the quay.
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