by Charles Todd
“You’re telling me to be patient.”
“I expect I am.”
She was silent for a time, watching the water.
“I loved Tom. I see a good bit of Tom in Hugh. But Tom is dead, he’s been gone long enough that I find it harder every passing day to remember him. I can’t bring his face back in the night, or the sound of his voice. He’s slipping away from me. And Hugh is—is there in his place. I’m so confused.”
“No, you’re resilient. You’re young, more of your life is ahead of you than behind you. To stop living in the present, clinging to the past, is part of mourning for a while, but you have to make a future for yourself. If not with Hugh, then with someone. Tom would be the first to want you to have a future. He would understand.”
“How did you get to be so wise, Bess?”
I shook my head in denial. But I’d listened to dying men for four years. I’d written their last letters and held their hands as they faced what was to come. And I’d heard them talk about sweethearts and even wives. Wanting them to have more than a memory.
What they didn’t know, these dying men, was the sheer number of those who had already died—and would go on dying to the end, and even after the end of the war. And there wouldn’t be futures for many of those sweethearts and widows, because a generation lay buried in the muddy fields of France and Flanders.
Trying to throw off my own darkening mood, I said, “Rachel. Did you see what happened to Hugh the other evening? Did he really fall?”
To my astonishment, she turned abruptly away and started toward the house ahead of me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bess. Hugh fell. He told us so.”
I hurried to catch her up. I could see her profile, pale in the moonlight, and set against any further mention of how Hugh had got so badly hurt himself.
I woke up the next morning wondering how long Matron would wait before sending word to Somerset, asking why I hadn’t returned from my leave.
It would depend, of course, on how many new patients had been brought in, and how shorthanded the staff might be. But Matron was an efficient and busy woman. She would send to Somerset this morning.
A depressing thought, given the consternation at home when her message arrived.
I took a deep breath. With the best will in the world, I couldn’t get word to them or to Matron. But it was still my doing that brought me to this fix. Except of course for Mr. Morgan, who’d abandoned me in the middle of the night. And if I was to be honest with myself, that too lay at my door. I’d hired him.
And where would my mother begin? Would she send word to the Colonel Sahib? But my father might be in France. Or London. And I had no idea what Simon’s duties were just now. But I rather thought Mother would turn to him first, rather than worry my father when he might not be able to do more than listen.
She’d travel first to the clinic.
I could imagine that conversation with Matron. Mother being circumspect, trying not to push me deeper into the trouble I was already in. Matron listening with her own concerns in mind, trying to see what was behind my mother’s surprising visit.
Mother might even suggest that I’d taken a few days to attend to other matters, and that it was these that were delaying me. A very good tactic. Except that my mother wasn’t a polished liar.
I sighed. I’d pitched her into the middle of a problem with nothing to help her.
Would Matron remember my concern for the Welsh patients we’d released to return to their homes in the valley? Would she consider mentioning this to my mother? Or would she simply point out that I’d been on leave, I was traveling to Somerset, and she could think of no reason why I shouldn’t have left there in good time to reach the clinic on the appointed hour of the appointed day to resume my duties?
And then it would be left to Mother to draw Matron out.
My mother hadn’t been the Colonel’s Lady, she hadn’t spent all her married life with a regiment of men with dependents and problems of their own, without learning as much in her own way as Matron had experienced in nursing. And her daughter was missing.
I would give much, I thought, to be a speck on the wall and hear this conversation take place. But I wished with all my heart I’d not worried Matron or my mother.
Nothing for it but to start my day. I got up, bathed and dressed in the cold little room, and went downstairs.
Rachel spent the morning in the shed with the lambs, hurrying out there as soon as she’d finished her breakfast, asking if I’d clear away.
Hugh was still sporting a bruised jaw, but he was moving about a little less painfully now. I thought he must have been quietly taking great care to give his chest a chance to heal. Still, it must have been difficult using his crutches. He was taciturn this morning as well.
Whatever had happened to him, I thought, he was brooding over it. And it was clear that any questions from me would not be welcomed.
It would be far better for me to go, leave behind the muddle that was worrying everyone out here, and let them solve their own problems, as they had for centuries. But there was no way out. Except to walk, with the hope of eventually finding someone to carry me the rest of the way.
I was beginning to think I could do it. There were no inns or other places for me to stay, but I’d endured all weathers in France. I didn’t even need a map, I could just follow the ruts in that road north. How could I lose my way?
There was my kit. But I’d carried that before. Not so far, not over such terrain, perhaps, but I was used to its weight.
Rachel had taken sandwiches and a flask of tea with her after breakfast, intending to stay with the lambs or work with the other ewes. To avoid me? I was afraid that was the purpose. I was not to ask her more questions.
Hugh came in, ate his meal with only a half dozen words between us, and then went up to his room.
When there was a knock at the outer door, I hurried to answer it, hoping against hope that Ellen had seen reason and was planning to carry Oliver to hospital in Swansea. And I was going to make certain that I was included in that drive. I wasn’t sure just how I was going to achieve it, but if need be I’d remind Oliver that he owed me his support.
But when I opened the door, it was the rector standing there, gaunt in his black clothes, bending a little forward as if he was intent on his errand.
“Good afternoon,” I greeted him, trying to keep my disappointment out of my face.
“Good afternoon, Sister,” he said solemnly. “I thought I might find you at home. May I come in for a little visit?”
Taken aback, I said, “I—yes. Yes, of course.”
I opened the door wider, and ushered him into the entry before closing it and leading him to the front room.
There was no fire lit at this time of day, and it was cold. But if I offered him a cup of tea in the warmth of the kitchen, would he take that as an invitation to linger? I couldn’t imagine why he’d come to call on me. Except to urge me to attend services, and he’d done that.
I decided to see what he had to say before offering hospitality.
He’d removed his hat and set it on the nearest table by the time I’d lit the lamp, for the room wasn’t very bright this afternoon.
I gestured to a chair, then took one across from him.
“Have you enjoyed your visit with Mrs. Williams and the Captain?” he began. An attempt at setting me at my ease?
“I have,” I replied, although it was the only answer I could make. “I am happy to see the progress that Captain Williams has made since leaving the clinic.”
“Do you think he intends to stay here in the peninsula?”
“I haven’t thought to ask him his plans. But I believe the climate has been good for him, and I hope he won’t feel the need to leave anytime soon.”
Was he here to suggest that Hugh should leave? Seeking my medical opinion to use as persuasion? After all, Hugh was an interloper here, on sufferance to help Rachel with the farm.
If so, then I suspected someone else had put him up to it. Anna’s father, for one. Mr. Dunhill would benefit the most from Hugh’s departure. I was half convinced that he’d attacked Hugh as well, if he’d said something that Hugh couldn’t tolerate. That would explain why Hugh refused to talk about what happened. But that left Oliver’s injuries unexplained.
Intrigued, I added, “The clinic where he was treated has seen fit to release the Captain. And he is free to go where he pleases.”
“Yes, yes. As for the climate here,” he went on hastily, as if eager to shift the subject, “except for the storms, of course, we do have a very agreeable climate. We start planting early, and that has been one of our blessings.”
Ah. It wasn’t really Hugh that had brought him here or he’d have gone into the subject more thoroughly. I wondered if he was aware that Hugh was in the house, upstairs.
“I’ve been pleasantly surprised,” I offered, “to see how self-sufficient you are out here. How little you need from the rest of Wales.”
“This has been a Norman enclave, surrounded by enemies, since the colony was planted here centuries ago. We’ve had to defend our independence.”
I hadn’t known that.
The rector smiled. “When I first arrived, I knew the parish wasn’t particularly pleased to have an outsider take over the living. Even an English outsider. The late rector was a cousin of one of the families out here, and so he was acceptable, you see. I can tell you I had my work cut out for me in those early years.”
“Was it terribly difficult?” I asked, interested in spite of myself.
“It was. I found my flock set in its ways, and not eager to move into a new century. In the end I was the one who had to change.”
It was an odd admission to a stranger. I wondered if in some way he was trying to explain to me why he had so little influence out here—not even over who was buried in the churchyard. “Did you consider leaving?”
“Alas, it wasn’t possible. I had no sponsor, you see. And my bishop wasn’t a man who accepted excuses. He expected me to find my way here, and bring these people to the church as best I could. I tried not to disappoint him.”
I was beginning to understand the trials and disappointments that he’d suffered in his service to this village. It also explained to some extent why Hugh wasn’t welcomed, even though he’d fought for England. And neither man had had anywhere else to go. For that reason alone, Mr. Wilson ought to have taken Hugh’s side against the village. But he couldn’t. He never would.
He looked toward the window as he said, “They keep themselves to themselves. It leaves me with the feeling that I’ve only touched the surface of their lives and know very little about what goes on behind the doors of their houses, or for that matter, behind their faces.”
I could see the shadow of a great sadness in him, there for a moment as the pale daylight touched his cheeks and eyes, then disappeared as he turned back to me. I’d sensed it when I first met him, but now I knew why.
I still didn’t know why he was here, coming when he thought he might speak to me alone.
“I must admit I find them hard to read as well.” I thought at this point I really ought to offer him tea. This was Rachel’s house, her hospitality, and I mustn’t slight that.
But before I could say anything, he cleared his throat and finally launched into why he had come.
“You will be leaving us soon, I believe? Miss Marshall is here with a motorcar, and I’m sure she’ll be kind enough to carry you back to Swansea. I know of course about your driver abandoning you. You must be eager to return to your work at the clinic.”
“Then perhaps you might suggest to her that I would be happy to leave when she does. I’m expected to return straightaway, you see.”
“Indeed.”
So much for depending on him to put in a word for me. But then I hadn’t really expected him to.
He looked toward the window again, as if trying to find inspiration, a frown between his eyes.
“There is a bit from the Bible,” he began, “about seeing through a glass darkly. Are you familiar with it?”
“I am. Corinthians, I believe.”
“Yes, a very powerful chapter, is it not?” He turned back to me. “We don’t always see things clearly, do we? We see them through a glass, not as they are, because we don’t fully understand what we are seeing. It’s vague, uncertain, and often easily mistaken for something else. Something more.”
“Indeed,” I said, unable to decide where he was going with this.
“It’s easy to misunderstand what you’ve seen out here, in your brief visit here. It would be kind if you could find it in your heart to leave these people—my flock—in peace when you go.”
Was he talking about that hasty burial? Or the two attacks? Or what? I couldn’t be sure just what it was he wanted me not to talk about. But I understood one thing. If I wanted to leave here with Ellen Marshall, I needed to assure everyone that anything I’d witnessed here or uncovered or discovered, it would be better not to raise any alarms in Swansea.
He looked like such a black crow sitting there, shoulders hunched as he awaited my answer.
Who put him up to this?
Was it his own idea?
Is he afraid he’ll be judged for letting his flock get out of hand? And recalled as incompetent?
These thoughts flitted swiftly through my head, along with one more. He must think I know more than I could possibly do.
“I have no reason to wish anyone out here any harm, Rector. I just want to return to my duties as quickly as possible. I’ll be leaving Wales on the next train, as soon as I arrive in Swansea.”
And that was true. If I stopped at a police station, I’d be delayed by questions I had no answers for, a long wait while my accusations were looked into, and in the end, the police might decide after talking to people out here that I’d misread everything I’d seen. It was possible for me to misread everything.
But I had seen that poor man’s body being lowered hastily into an unmarked grave without any sort of service to give at least a semblance of propriety. With not even the rector in attendance. And it was disturbing. Still, for all I knew the churchyard was littered with dead from the sea.
I could see relief and gratitude mixed in his eyes as he nodded.
“Thank you, Sister. They are good people, in their own way. And I daresay that I have done what I could for them. I would like to go on trying to help them in my own way.”
“I’m not really sure how this conversation began,” I said. “What is it that you want me in particular to overlook?”
His face paled with alarm. “I—I don’t believe—that is to say, I don’t know what it is you are asking me.” Gathering himself with an effort, he went on. “I am merely suggesting that you judge my flock not by the standards of your own English village, but in light of the harder life out here. Nothing more.”
“Yes, I do see,” I replied contritely. I had no reason to upset him, to judge him. No reason to probe further. In a way I already had my answer.
And to be perfectly honest, I don’t think he knew the most pressing problem out here. He’d admitted as much. Then how could I—in a handful of days—possibly know what was best?
He stared hard at me, trying to read my mind, or at least whether I was being truthful. Finally, he said, “You are kind, Sister.”
Remembering my duty, I said, “May I offer you a cup of tea?”
“No, no. I’ve other calls to make. But thank you,” he added belatedly. “Mrs. Williams has always been most kind . . .”
He rose, looked around for his hat, and almost gave me a little courtly bow as I rose too, to walk with him toward the door.
“Good day, Sister,” he said as he stepped outside and turned toward the path.
“Good day, Rector.” I closed the door behind him and stood for a moment with my back to it.
I heard Hugh’s door open, and he came to the top of the stairs.
“I
thought I heard voices.”
“The rector called. I’m not quite sure why.”
“No more veiled invitations to appear on Sunday next?” He grinned a little.
“Hugh. What’s happening out here? Something he said—the rector—made me wonder whether there were—problems—that were—troublesome in some way.”
I’d chosen my words with care.
He shook his head. “I’ve told you. Rachel must live among these people, and so must I, if I’m to stay and help her. I shut my eyes to what I ought not see, and never question it.”
“Yes, but they unceremoniously buried a dead soldier in the churchyard, without any semblance of a service. This man Oliver was severely beaten.” I debated adding that he himself was knocked down by someone, intentionally and viciously. Then thought better of it. “And someone told me that Ellen Marshall was tearing her house apart inside, and she’s too afraid to leave it vulnerable even to take her friend to hospital in Swansea. Who is she afraid of? Or perhaps I should ask what.”
“Bess. Leave it. It doesn’t concern you. Or me.” The Welsh lilt was suddenly there in his voice, and I thought it was a measure of his worry, to revert to his past.
“I won’t mention this to Rachel,” I promised. “I wouldn’t upset her for the world. She’s been terribly kind to put up with me and treat me as a member of the household when it wasn’t her fault that Mr. Morgan stranded me. Still, I can’t help but see that there’s something wrong.” I hesitated. “The village has already accused you of murdering Tom.”
“I shouldn’t have told you.”
“You did because you were worried. And you didn’t want me to be drawn into it.”
“Yes, all right. It was still wrong of me.” He took a deep breath. “I can’t go back to the valley. There’s no place for me there, and in the end, I’ll be driven to despair, like the others. Here I have a chance to heal, small as that chance might be. I want to take it. I want to find out what sort of man I still am.”
It had cost him a great deal to make that admission, and I wanted to bite my tongue and take back what I’d said that forced him to be so terribly, painfully honest.
