A Casualty of War

by Charles Todd

  “You could be right. Mrs. Horner hinted at some confusion over who the heir was, which sounds to me as if no one was really certain. That points to the possibility that James didn’t ask the family solicitors to draw up his will.”

  “There was no time to read anything but the first few paragraphs of the papers. Still, that was enough to tell me it had to do with Captain Travis and his present whereabouts.”

  “Did you see the name of the solicitors?”

  “Yes. Ellis, Ellis and Whitman. Bury St. Edmunds.”

  I looked at the little watch pinned to my uniform. “It’s too late to drive to Bury tonight. No one will be in at this hour. We could have used the excuse of letting them know about Mr. Spencer’s fall.”

  “It’s not too late to have dinner there, and afterward look for the address.”

  “That’s a very good idea.” I stood up and reached for my coat. “I would give much to know if Mr. Spencer simply discovered where the Captain was and then came directly here to tell Mrs. Travis what he’d learned, or if he actually spoke to the Captain at the clinic and told him about the will. It might explain what he meant when he told us he’d come from London. Still, I really can’t imagine Matron allowing them to talk. She might feel that learning he was the heir to the man he believed tried to kill him would upset the Captain too much. It’s too bad I have no right to speak for Captain Travis. We would have a good reason to ask questions.”

  Simon was already putting on his own coat as he followed me down the stairs. The wind had dropped with sunset, but the evening was cold. “I expect you’re right about Matron, Bess. But I’m just as glad you aren’t more involved in this affair. Wills have a way of stirring up family resentments and causing no end of trouble.”

  I pulled up the collar of my coat and drew my gloves from my pocket. “It will be a day or so before Mr. Spencer can even consider carrying out his mission here. I can’t imagine he would ask someone to take a message to Mrs. Travis, not while he’s in such pain. And she isn’t likely to call on him at Dr. Harrison’s surgery, even if he did.”

  I remembered that Mr. Spencer had already refused an offer to send messages to anyone, including his own firm. That would have been the better course of action, asking someone else to finish his business here.

  I said, “Do you suppose there’s a telephone in the village that he could use? Or perhaps I could put through a call to my mother and ask her to go to Wiltshire for me. The Captain could tell her what I should do.”

  “I don’t believe there’s a telephone in Sinclair. Unless there’s one at The Hall. Just as well, I don’t think it’s a good idea to draw your mother into this. Not yet.”

  Simon was right. Sending her to the clinic might do more harm than good just now. But I was feeling a sense of frustration that we could do so little.

  The high beams of the headlamps picked out trees and barns, and we could see the lamps lit in farm and cottage windows. I could smell smoke drifting from chimneys, warm and comforting.

  We came into Bury St. Edmunds and found a restaurant just across from the abbey ruins. It was still serving dinner. We went up the steps, walked inside. Simon spoke to the man who greeted us at the dining room door, and asked for a table.

  One was available, and we were seated against a wall but could look out the windows at the dark shape of the tall abbey gates.

  The meal was surprisingly good, and afterward we walked through the center of Bury, searching for the chambers of Ellis, Ellis and Whitman. On a lane that ran down to the High Street we found what we were looking for. The brass plate with the name of the firm was weathered, but the woodwork around the windows and doors was fresh, with what appeared to be, in this light, a dark blue paint.

  Simon stepped back to look up at the building. “There’s a lamp burning. I wonder if one of the partners is working late.”

  We were just turning away when a Constable came round the corner and hailed us. “Good evening, Sister. Sergeant-Major. Looking for someone?” he asked. He was portly, possibly in his forties, and had a belligerent chin. But his manner was mild as he spoke to us.

  “An after-dinner stroll. How old is this building?” Simon asked.

  But the Constable wasn’t to be put off. “There was a breaking and entering here last evening.”

  “Here?” I asked, surprised into speaking before I thought.

  “Yes, Sister. There’s a senior clerk working in there just now, trying to determine what is missing.” Lifting his truncheon, he gestured toward the light.

  “Oh, dear. Was the man caught?” I stepped closer to Simon, taking his arm in apparent anxiety.

  “Not to worry, Sister,” the Constable said kindly, “but we are keeping an eye on passersby. Were you by any chance on this street last night? Walking along here?”

  Simon answered for us. “We’re staying in a village a few miles away. Sinclair. We decided to come to Bury for dinner, in the hope that the food would be different.”

  “Staying with family? Friends?”

  “At The George,” Simon replied easily.

  “And what brings you to Suffolk?”

  That was a much more difficult question to answer truthfully, given our reasons for coming here.

  “One of the men I treated near the end of the war has connections in Sinclair. He’s still in hospital. We thought perhaps his family might like to know more about his condition,” I said. It sounded implausible even to my ears, but the Constable nodded.

  “The Sister who nursed my son wrote to us until he was able to write on his own. We’ve never forgot her kindness.”

  I felt my face warming with embarrassment. I didn’t intend to sound as if we were being kind.

  Taking a chance, I asked, “There’s a Mr. Spencer in Dr. Harrison’s surgery in the village. He took a nasty spill coming down some stairs, and I assisted the doctor in treating his injuries. Do you know where his firm is located? I believe he’s a solicitor here in Bury. I could leave a note for them.”

  I expected him to tell me that Mr. Spencer was a member of Ellis, Ellis and Whitman, and I could summon the clerk to take my message. It was the perfect entrée and would give me a few minutes’ time with the man. I wasn’t sure just how I’d manage asking about the Travis will, but I could at least mention having tea with Mrs. Travis and the Vicar, and see where that would take me. We might even be asked to carry a message back to Mr. Spencer. It wasn’t much, but it was better than leaving Bury without learning anything.

  Instead the Constable gave me a suspicious stare. “A solicitor, you say? I can’t help you there, Sister. I’d walk on, back to The Angel, if I were you. There’s an omnibus leaving within the hour. Heading in the direction of Sinclair.”

  “Thank you, Constable,” I said, properly chastened.

  “Good luck finding your thief,” Simon added, and bidding the Constable good night, he took my arm and led me back the way we’d come.

  Once out of sight of the Constable, I said in a low voice, “I wonder what that was all about? I thought it would be a simple enough matter to summon the clerk. For heaven’s sake, you’d think he would be grateful to know about this latest catastrophe befalling the firm.”

  “For a moment there, I feared I’d have to explain to your father why we’d been taken up by the police.”

  “It did sound rather sinister. Here we were, showing an unfortunate interest in the scene of a crime, then mentioning one of the firm by name. But I do wonder why anyone would break in there. I should think any large sums of money would be deposited in the bank.” I added, almost to myself, “If that happened last night, I wonder if Mr. Spencer knew about it? Surely he must.”

  “A good question, that.”

  “No use stopping by the surgery. We have no excuse to see him.”

  “I expect he’s too uncomfortable to care.” Simon hesitated. “Bess. If he lied about London, and he refused to contact his firm or even tell Dr. Harrison what he was, do you suppose it was connected to the
break-in?”

  “I can’t think why,” I said slowly. “Unless he was afraid it had something to do with his reasons for coming to Sinclair.”

  We had reached the motorcar, and Simon opened my door before turning to the crank.

  As we drove out of Bury, we passed the same Constable. He stood there on the corner of the street and watched us pass. His expression wasn’t friendly.

  I was yawning by the time we reached The George, and we climbed the stairs in silence.

  When I came down to breakfast the next morning, Simon was already there.

  Joining him at the table against the wall, I said, “For a wonder, the sun is shining.”

  “So it is,” he said, greeting me. “I’ve already walked outside. The wind has dropped as well.”

  I ordered my breakfast, thinking of the dry sandwiches I’d eaten so often at the Front. It was a pleasure to have porridge for a change. But I was still waking at dawn, listening for the sound of the guns. How long would it take to believe the war was over?

  Not wanting to think about that, I said, “I think I should look in on Mr. Spencer.”

  “Surgery hours begin at nine. I saw the board last evening. Are you intending to tell him that you’ve been to Bury?”

  “I can’t think of a reason to bring it up. But that may change when we speak to him. Afterward, perhaps we could have tea at Mrs. Horner’s. I wonder if she’s intending to open the shop.”

  “I walked by there just now. I saw lamplight in the windows upstairs. Someone is at home.”

  It was a little after nine that we knocked at the surgery door.

  An assistant admitted us and showed us into the waiting room.

  A woman sitting in one of the chairs was wearing a uniform very similar to mine. I put her age at mid-thirties. A strong face, a pert nose, and gray eyes. She smiled when she saw me, and nodded. Professional courtesy.

  “Good morning,” I said, returning the smile.

  “Where did you serve?” she asked, and I told her.

  “I was mainly with the British regiments fighting in the mountains of Italy.” The smile turned wry. “I lost three toes to frostbite. They sent me home.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear it,” I said, and that was not just a polite reply. I meant it.

  “I’d never seen high mountains before that—I’d never been to Wales or Westmorland. It was quite a shock, as you can imagine. And the cold was sometimes as bitter as any I’d ever felt. My fingers were always cold. But one couldn’t wear gloves, you know. Not dealing with open wounds.”

  “When were you posted there?”

  “My brother’s regiment was pulled out of France just after the Third Battle of Passchendaele and sent to Italy. I wanted to be near him, and so I volunteered to go with the medical staff. He’s still there, worst luck.”

  That had been a very different campaign. We had already been fighting in the Near East and in France, but when Italy decided to join the Allied cause, it opened up a new Front because of Italy’s proximity to the Austrian border. Britain sent men to shore up the Italian Army.

  We chatted on for several minutes, and then Dr. Harrison’s assistant came to fetch the other Sister. As she reached for her cane, half-hidden behind her skirts, she said, “Sister Potter. Have you recently come to Sinclair?”

  “Sister Crawford,” I responded. “We’re visiting in the village for a few days. One of my former patients had connections here.”

  “Come for tea, if you have time. Ask anyone, they’ll tell you how to find me.” She followed the assistant through the door.

  “I was never part of that campaign,” Simon commented, “although I trained a number of Berkshire officers who were later sent there.”

  The door opened again, and this time it was Dr. Harrison who came through it. “Sarah told me you were here. I expect you want news of Mr. Spencer.”

  “Yes, we were quite concerned about him.”

  “He had a most uncomfortable night. I’m still not convinced that the ankle is broken. But I did discover two cracked ribs. I’m keeping him for a few days. He’s in no condition to travel.”

  I said, “Is there anyone he would like to notify—or reassure? I’ll be happy to help, if I can. His firm, for one, might wish to know what’s become of him. Or perhaps his family.”

  The doctor shook his head. “I can’t give him anything for his pain until I’m sure the head injuries aren’t as serious as they appear. I don’t think you’ll achieve much even if you speak to him. But I’ll ask, as soon as I can. And if there’s anything further you can do for him, I know where to reach you.”

  It was dismissal. A nursing Sister didn’t contradict a doctor. It was not done. But we had other ways of putting our opinions across.

  With a warm smile I said, “That’s very kind of you, Doctor. Please tell Mr. Spencer we’re concerned about him. And that we’ll call again later.”

  He could hardly forbid me to appear on his doorstep.

  After a moment, he returned the smile—wryly—and said, “To be sure. Sergeant-Major.” He nodded to Simon and was gone.

  When we were outside, safely out of hearing, I said, “I’ve never asked. Why did you search Mr. Spencer’s belongings before bringing them down? And don’t tell me you’ve grown suspicious of everyone after being in my company.”

  He laughed, that deep chest laugh that comes when a man is truly amused.

  “I walked into the bedroom and realized that he must have only just arrived because his coat was across a chair, his hat on the table, and his valise on the bed. All I had to do was collect all three and bring them downstairs. I put his coat over one arm, picked up the hat in that hand, then reached for the valise with the other, thinking to lift it off the bed. But he must have gone into it for something, because one of the clasps hadn’t caught when he reclosed it, and as I swung it off the bed, the remaining clasp snapped open as well. I caught the valise before it spilled everything onto the floor, and as I set it back on the bed to close it properly, I saw the papers. And the name at the top—Captain Alan Travis. I didn’t have much time for a real search, but the doctor would assume I was repacking his belongings, and so I carefully looked through the valise and then his coat pockets, in case there was any identification there. That’s when I discovered the omnibus ticket and schedule.”

  “We would never have known what had brought him here if you hadn’t found those papers. And we wouldn’t have known to go into Bury. We wouldn’t have heard about the break-in. What could someone have been hoping to find, if not money? It doesn’t make any sense, does it?” I stopped in midstride. “Simon. We’ve just assumed that Mr. Spencer is a solicitor—that he’s a member of Ellis, Ellis and Whitman. What if he isn’t?”

  “Go on,” Simon encouraged me, outlandish as the thought was.

  “Well, all we really do know is that he was in possession of papers with that letterhead. Do you think that’s why the Constable was suspicious? Because he knew there was no one by the name of Spencer in that firm? If that’s the man’s real name. Nobody at the inn recognized him, we’d already seen that. And I had the strongest feeling just now that Dr. Harrison was discouraging us from seeing Mr. Spencer. Do you think he told the doctor that he didn’t wish to have any visitors?”

  “Harrison did make it rather plain that you couldn’t see his patient. Even though you were caring for the man before the doctor got there, and I helped settle him into his cot. So, yes, Spencer must have been the one who didn’t want company.”

  “Unless it was Mrs. Travis who forbade us to see him,” I said, walking on. “But unless gossip has already reached The Hall about what happened last evening, she probably doesn’t know he’s here.”

  Simon fell into step beside me. “What you’re trying to decide is whether it was Mr. Spencer who broke into Ellis, Ellis and Whitman to look for those papers. What does he have to gain by that? For that matter, how did he even suspect they were there?”

  I sighed. “You’re rig
ht, it hardly makes sense. Still—blackmail comes to mind. What if he was there looking for something else, and he came across those papers? But that leads us back to what you were saying. How did he know that they mattered, that they were important?” I wasn’t sure I really believed any of this. But what other explanation could there be?

  “Those papers mean that Ellis, Ellis and Whitman had already discovered who and where Captain Travis might be. And Mrs. Travis would have been told where he was. What would Mr. Spencer have to gain? What’s more, why was she so suspicious of us, when she already knew precisely where the Captain could be found? If she had any reason to think we were trying to take advantage of her, she would have had the Constable to take us into custody.”

  “We’re going to find ourselves in gaol, one way or another, before this is finished,” I told him bleakly. “There are only eight days left of my leave—it will have to be a light sentence. Surely she would have said something about Captain Travis being in a clinic in Wiltshire, if she’d known. If only to gloat. To tell us she couldn’t be taken advantage of.”

  We had crossed the green.

  “Whether she knew then or will be told shortly where Travis is, it will not make her very happy to hear that her son’s heir is a deranged man. Spencer might think it’s worth something to her to keep the rest of the world from hearing it.”

  “Pride,” I agreed. “Everyone reveres James Travis so. But I expect she was against the Captain long before he was sent to Wiltshire.”

  “Strange as all this sounds, it could very well be true,” Simon offered. We had reached the war memorial, and we stopped. Across the way, I could see that the tea shop sign read open. “Proving any of it will be another matter entirely.”