by Charles Todd
There was the usual church. And lights were appearing in the few scattered houses, the only signs of life out here, save for the humped white bodies of a small herd of sheep in a pasture beyond.
“This is where you wanted to go?” my driver asked, staring around.
“I—yes. Well, at least I think it is,” I said doubtfully.
To my right, the land dropped away precipitously, a single rutted lane that ran down past a winter-bare hedge to where more houses were scattered across a green Down rising sharply above the sea. From here, I couldn’t tell where water and land met. But there must have been a strand at the foot of the Down. I could hear the sea on the wind, and smell it too.
“Which house, Miss?” my driver was asking.
Ahead of me was a long, low cottage on the crest of the high cliff, and far down to my left were the white buildings of what appeared to be a coast guard station put up during the war. It was too dark to see what lay beyond that, but I could tell there were no more villages in that direction. It was pitch-black, not a single light.
Just behind me was the only good-sized house out here in the wilderness, but there were no lamps lit when we came by, and it appeared to be closed up. Empty.
The driver came around to open my door, and I stepped down.
The wind whipped at my skirts as I stood there, undecided. Surely the valley doctor had given me the wrong address, and I’d come all this way for nothing.
This must be a glorious sight in the spring or summer, I thought, but what was I to do now? There was no sign of an inn, not even a shop where I might inquire.
The driver got back behind the wheel, waiting for me to decide what to do. I wished for Simon, suddenly. I wouldn’t feel quite so alone if he were here to help me knock on doors.
Go? Or stay?
Stay where? I asked myself.
And a craven little voice in my head suggested that I get back in the motorcar and return to Swansea and civilization. A hot bath, a good dinner, and a hot water bottle in my bed. Even if it was nearly dawn by the time we got there, I added, thinking of the drive back.
But I was my great-grandmother’s great-granddaughter, and a nursing Sister to boot.
I said briskly, “Sound your horn. Someone must be about.”
For a moment I thought he might refuse, then he reached out for it.
It seemed lost in the ceaseless roar of the wind, a pathetic man-made noise in the teeth of Mother Nature’s force.
Nothing happened. And then a man came to the door of the long, low cottage to the right of us and peered out.
I hailed him, and he disappeared for a moment, returning with a coat he was shrugging into, a knit cap on his head.
“Trouble with the motorcar?” he called as he came across the open ground toward us, taking in my uniform.
“No, I’ve come to look for a—a former patient. I was told by his sister that I might find him here. Captain Williams.” I’d almost said a friend but thought that it might seem far too familiar, to explain my presence at this end of the world.
I could just see, in the light of the headlamps, that he was frowning.
“What do you want him for?” he asked suspiciously.
I’d noticed one thing, coming into Wales: that people said what was on their minds, where the English often circled around it in a polite, noninvolved sort of way. This might be English-settled countryside, but this man was Welsh blunt.
“I came to Wales to look in on a few of my former patients. Captain Williams is the last on my list.”
“They didn’t come looking for Booker’s son, after he was sent home,” he said, a bitterness in his voice. “Lungs rotted out by gas.”
“The war is over,” I replied. “We can spare the staff now.”
He nodded.
Just then I saw a woman coming up the lane that ran down to the houses below. She was walking briskly, two large dogs trotting at her heels. Then she saw the motorcar, a Sister hanging on to her cap for dear life, and the man from the cottage standing ten feet away, staring unhelpfully.
“Hallo. Can I help you?” she called.
A friendly voice. But at the same time, a wary one.
“My name is Sister Crawford. I’ve come from Gloucestershire to find Captain Williams.”
“Have you now?” she said, stopping in her tracks. “And what would you be wanting him for?”
Exasperated, I said, “He wrote to say he needed help. Well, I am the help that has been sent to find him.” Not quite the truth, but close enough for strangers, since I had no idea what was wrong here. “Has he gone back to the valleys?” I asked then, suddenly considering the fact that he might not be here after all.
“The valleys? Have you been there?”
“I have.”
“Oh,” she said, and I thought she was frowning, but her dark windblown hair covered her face. She’d pulled off the scarf she was holding to let the wind take it, not expecting to find a crowd of people at the top of the walk. A crowd by the standards of this desolate corner of Wales.
She took a deep breath. “Well, you’d better come in, then.” And with the hand holding the scarf she gestured toward the house behind me.
All this time the man I’d first spoken to had listened to our exchange with undisguised interest. But before I could thank him, he turned on his heel and went back where he’d come from, pointedly slamming the door.
I said to my driver, “Will you follow me there, please?”
He gave me some argument, but I told him, “I don’t intend to be stranded here. You’ll wait until I see what transpires there in the house.”
As I’d paid him only half of his fee, the other half to be handed over at my destination, he had no choice but to wait.
I hurried to catch up with the woman striding briskly toward the house. It was more the size of a bungalow, but by local standards, it was large, with two stories.
The dogs bounded ahead of her, scratching at the door. A lamp was lit by the window, just before she opened the door, and I heard voices as she stepped inside. And then a man’s silhouette was outlined against the brightness of the lamplight, and a familiar voice called, “Sister Crawford?”
There was astonishment in his voice.
I was beginning to feel as if I’d come on a fool’s errand.
“Yes, indeed, Captain. You are a hard man to find,” I said brightly.
“Come in,” he said, moving back, and I saw the crutches then. “It’s good to see you.”
He was being polite. There was no relief, no warmth in the invitation.
I hesitated, then took a deep breath and went up the path to the door. Stepping into the narrow entry, I said, “I received your letter. And I understood why you wrote it. I’ve visited the valley, and I came on here to make certain you were all right. Your sister wasn’t very forthcoming.” And then, watching the woman’s face in the shadows behind him, I added, “Matron will be glad to hear you’re all right.”
A spark of amusement appeared in his dark eyes, vanishing almost as quickly as it had come.
The woman said, “I’ll put the kettle on. Do ask your driver if he’d like a cup.”
I thought perhaps it was a way of saying “. . . before you go.” But she didn’t add it. It seemed that she was waiting to see what the Captain wanted to happen.
He swung around on his crutches and led the way into a front room, obviously the parlor. He found the lamp, lit it, and said, “You must be tired after such a long journey.”
As the lamplight brightened, I could see that he looked better, stronger—and yet there were dark circles beneath his eyes, as if he wasn’t sleeping well.
“I didn’t intend to intrude, Captain. I am merely carrying out orders.” Again not quite the truth, but I thought it might save face for both of us if I left shortly, duty done.
“I’m sorry about that letter,” he said after a moment. “Any news of Josh or Owen?” But there was no curiosity in the question. Just dread.
“I didn’t want to leave. But I didn’t have much choice. There was nowhere to go. And the others were dead.”
It was a painful answer, cutting into his pride.
“I understand,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of such news.”
He shook his head. “My sister isn’t much of a letter writer. I am grateful for your news, bad as it is.”
I gestured around the room. The furnishings were of an older generation, dark wood and darker upholstery. The round table by the windows had a marble top, and there were framed photographs and other treasures taking pride of place on it.
“You seem well settled here. You look stronger too. As if the sea air agrees with you.” But I remembered that the house had been dark before the woman came home. Not a good sign, surely. People who were depressed preferred the dark . . .
“Sister Crawford. Bess—” he began and broke off.
I waited.
He glanced toward the door of the room, then dropped his voice. “You mustn’t stay,” he said softly. “It isn’t safe.”
Chapter 4
I stared at him.
“What do you mean, it isn’t safe?” I asked, keeping my voice as low as his.
But before he could answer me, we could hear footsteps in the passage, and the woman came in with a tray. And only two cups.
I smiled, and thanked her.
This was my first clear look at her. She was nearly my height and close to my age, with dark hair (now confined in a knot at the back of her head) and dark eyes. Her face was heart shaped and very pretty. I wondered if the danger the Captain had mentioned had to do with gossip about an attractive widow and her brother-in-law.
As if he’d suddenly remembered his manners, he said, belatedly, “I’m so sorry. It was the sho— the surprise of a visitor. Sister Crawford, this is my brother’s widow, Rachel Williams. Rachel, I don’t think any of us would have survived as long as we did without the Sisters. And this one in particular. I’ve told you about her.”
She acknowledged the introduction, then said, “I’ll just call your driver. And take him into the kitchen, so that you can talk.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I said, smiling. “On both counts. We won’t be long.”
She nodded, but I’d seen the way she looked at Captain Williams. And I knew she was not happy to see me here. She was in love with him, and he had no idea.
Patients fell in love with their nurses all the time. And out of love just as quickly when they were released from our care either to return home or to go back to their sector. It was a part of healing. It wasn’t done to speak of their exploits, but flirting with the Sisters made them feel like men again. We didn’t encourage it, but we understood, and as a rule we took no umbrage from their teasing.
But I’d seen no indication whatsoever that the Captain had imagined himself in love with me or any of the other Sisters treating him. The loss of his leg and his worry for his men, not romance, had kept his mind occupied.
Of course, Rachel wasn’t to know that. A Sister appearing at the edge of night was surely trouble . . .
She closed the door when she left the room, and I heard her calling to my driver. He came in and followed her down the passage, thanking her for her thoughtfulness.
I said, “Captain?” And waiting for an answer, I got up and poured two cups of tea, handing him his, then sitting down again with my own cup.
It was heavenly, warm and comforting. For there was no fire in this room, and I was beginning to feel the chill.
He took a deep breath and looked away, toward the table with photographs on it.
“Some days ago a body washed up on the strand just below us here. I don’t know if you saw when you came, but well below us there’s a crescent-shaped bay where the tide runs in. Quite striking, with sand instead of stones along the strand.”
“It was too dark, but I could hear the sea.”
“Yes. I’ve not grown used to that sound. To tell the truth.” He turned back, busying himself with his cup, and I could see the courage it was taking to go on. “The body was in the uniform of the Welsh Fusiliers. It was difficult to know what had killed the soldier. Drowning, a fall from a cliff or even a passing ship. There were no visible wounds. And no identification.”
“How sad,” I said as he stopped again.
In for a penny, in for a pound. He’d told me that much, he knew he had to tell me the rest of it.
“I don’t know where or how. But a rumor began to make the rounds that this was my brother, Tom. He’d been reported missing two years ago, his body never found. Nor was he reported as a prisoner. Just—missing. Presumed dead, in the end.”
How many men at the Front had been blown to bits, with nothing to show what had happened to them? They were one of the tragedies of the war, the missing.
“Could you identify the body? Was it your brother?”
“God no, it wasn’t Tom at all. But that didn’t stop the rumors. Or the suspicion that he’d come home at last, and I’d killed him. For Rachel.”
“Who would start such a rumor?” I asked, astonished. “And why?”
He shook his head. “God knows. Rachel swears it’s for the property. This house and the farm and the sheep she runs. They belonged to her parents, and her brother, Matthew, was to inherit. She and Tom had lived in Swansea after they were married. But when Tom was reported missing, she came home again, unable to live in the house where they’d been so happy. Her brother was killed soon after Tom was lost, and that killed her parents. Literally. Her mother simply died, and two months later, her father followed. The house was hers. There had been some talk of selling up, because she found it hard to manage alone, but then I arrived, and with someone to help her, Rachel decided to keep the farm.” He hesitated. “I don’t know the real reason. Whether she was glad—or felt I needed a home.” It had cost him to add that last. Pity went against the grain in this man.
“I’ve only just met her,” I said, “but she doesn’t appear to treat you as someone to be pitied.”
“No.” But he didn’t sound convinced. “I do what I can.”
“How does rumor claim you killed him? This dead man?”
“If you walk on from here, down toward the empty coast guard buildings, there’s a sharp drop just where you can look down at the bay. Even a cripple could push someone over, if the victim wasn’t expecting to be attacked.” His voice was bitter. “It was said he reached the house after dark. Much as you’ve done, but on foot. And we rid ourselves of him before anyone else knew he’d come home.” Setting his cup aside, he kept his face down so that I couldn’t read it.
“And your neighbors are ready to believe such nonsense? It doesn’t speak well for them. Or the village. Were you and your brother close?” I asked, trying to divert him from his embarrassment.
“Very. He was two years younger. With my help he’d escaped the mines too, finding work with one of the shipping companies in Cardiff. That’s how he met Rachel. She was visiting friends there. They were married just six months before war was declared, and before he enlisted, they moved to Swansea so that she would be nearer to her parents.” He shook his head. “It would have been for the best if he’d survived and I’d been the one who went missing.”
“It wasn’t your right to choose who lived and who died,” I said firmly, unwilling to let him pity himself. “The question at the moment is, who might wish to hurt you or even Rachel? You must have some suspicions?”
“Don’t you think I’ve asked myself that a hundred times? Rachel knows these people down here at the back of beyond. She tells me they know her well too, and still they gossip. That tells me it’s because I’ve come. The people out here don’t take to strangers. I came to help, and instead I’ve brought her trouble. It was the last thing I wished to do.”
“Why did you choose to come here?” I’d seen the house in the valley, and his sister. But I wanted to hear wha
t he had to say.
“I’ve told you. I had nowhere else to go.”
“That’s all very well and good. But surely you didn’t simply drop a letter into the post, telling her which train you intended to take from Cardiff.”
He grinned suddenly. “I think that’s why you were so good for us at the clinic, Sister Crawford. You refused to tolerate nonsense.” The grin vanished. “I’d kept in touch with her after Tom died. I was in France, there was nothing I could do, but at the very least I could try to help her make decisions. When her parents died, she told me how hard it was to manage by herself. And I offered whatever advice I could, what I thought Tom might advise. Rachel wrote to me before Christmas, telling me that now the war was over, she must either hire someone to help or sell up by spring. When I saw it was impossible to stay with my sister any longer, I told her that and asked if I could help in any way until she could find someone. Rachel answered by next post. She told me I could at least listen to her arguments against selling.” There was a sudden glint of pride in his eyes. “I’ve managed to do more than that. The dog minds the sheep better than I could ever hope to do. And Rachel’s training a second one. I know damn— almost nothing about sheep. I watched my mother knit, and that’s about it. But I can tell the dogs what Rachel wants. They do the rest.”
“Then she’s right. There’s your reason for the rumors. Someone hoped to buy Rachel out, and you’ve put paid to that possibility.”
“Yes, it explains the rumors,” he said impatiently, “but not the fact that others—who have no interest in the property—find it so easy to believe them.”
“Has anyone made an actual offer for the property?”
“Not to my knowledge. I’ve come to the conclusion that whoever he is, he was expecting her to be desperate to sell by spring, and he could pick it up cheaply.”
“Who did she turn to for advice before you arrived?”
“No one in particular, as far as I know. Rachel has always been rather independent.”
