A Question of Honor: A Bess Crawford Mystery

by Charles Todd

  “And that’s when you saw Hazel Sheridan. She told you that the family was deciding to take in children again, and she couldn’t bear it,” I said.

  He frowned. “Who told you they were starting up again? I thought no one else but the two of us knew. Hazel and I.”

  “Miss Gooding had seen the advertisement in the Times.”

  “Then it was true. Afterward I sometimes doubted it was. At any rate, I went into the house to see if they were wounded or if she had really killed them. They were dead, there was no doubt there. I walked out again, and by that time Hazel had left. I thought she might have gone to the police, that if I stayed, I’d be forced to give evidence against her as a witness. I walked away to protect her. But I saw the newspapers before I sailed, and the police had nothing to go on. There was some mention of asking Scotland Yard to take over the investigation. Several people reported seeing a stranger in the town. One described me as wearing the uniform of an Army officer. There was no mention at all of Hazel. I was glad she hadn’t confessed. If anyone deserved to die, it was that family. I sailed for India satisfied that she was going to be safe.”

  “But you weren’t,” my father said.

  “No. Scotland Yard was more thorough. They had only to find out that an officer had got down from one train and an hour later got on the next train south, heading for Portsmouth. When they looked into sailings, they could have come up with a list of names. It was only a matter of asking the servants if they recognized one of them. I hadn’t considered that, you see. I wasn’t used to having to hide my actions. I worked it out later, far too late to do anything about it.”

  “Initially the police only wanted you to help with their inquiries. When your parents were killed, it confirmed the fact that you were the man they were after.”

  “Bess—Sister Crawford told me they were dead. I still don’t know how someone got to them.”

  “What I don’t understand,” I said, “is why the Gesslers had to die.”

  “The Gesslers? Who are they? Oh God, don’t tell me I’m accused of more murders.”

  “Don’t you remember—the photographer who came each year to take your photographs to send to your parents?”

  “Is that his name? I just remember being told that if we weren’t happy and smiling, we’d all be punished severely. Once I tried to say something to the photographer’s assistant, a short, bustling little man. I was angry enough to risk everything, because Gwendolyn had pinched my sister and made her cry. But the man wouldn’t listen. He told me not to bother him, he was busy. After that I was sure they were the Caswells’ creatures, and I had no more to do with them. Don’t tell me Hazel killed them as well.”

  “Someone burned the house down a few weeks ago. Mr. Gessler and his daughter died in the fire,” my father told him.

  “Then it couldn’t have been Hazel, could it?” The relief in his voice was real.

  It would take more than one visit to convince Lieutenant Wade that Hazel Sheridan Campbell was a cold-blooded killer. He had defended her too long. Had suffered too much on her behalf.

  “You need to rest,” my father said at that point, getting to his feet. “I think we’ve said enough. And my daughter is right. I am obligated to bring in the murderer of five people. If you are not this person, then I have no reason to call the police and inform them that you are here.”

  “My parents—who killed them? You haven’t told me. It can’t have been Hazel, surely.”

  “We’re waiting to hear from India,” my father said briskly. “Rest now. We’ll come again. Nothing can be done until you are well enough. That’s your first duty now.”

  But Thomas Wade’s face was haggard as we went out and closed the door.

  When we were back in the motorcar, I leaned back against my seat, suddenly exhausted.

  “How did you know he was protecting Hazel Sheridan?” the Colonel Sahib asked.

  “I didn’t. I thought I was going around the bush when I mentioned her. Then it occurred to me that perhaps it wasn’t a question of why he wouldn’t talk about what happened but why he couldn’t. He loved his sister, he fretted over Alice Standish’s death. Perhaps he was protecting Hazel, believing she too was worth protecting.”

  “Well done. Poor devil. I can’t begin to imagine what he’s suffered. Still, he may have to continue to live as Corporal Caswell. I’ll talk to Simon, and we’ll find a way to take care of him. It mustn’t be known that Wade is still alive. If it’s true that Lady Campbell is guilty, there’s no chance of our proving it, and that will result in a reinstatement of the charges against Lieutenant Wade. But I am more relieved than I can say to know my trust was not misplaced.”

  We told Mother and Simon what had happened at Longleigh House. Simon, standing by the window, said nothing while my mother was obviously very pleased.

  “It was well done, Bess. Truly. And probably just as well for his sanity for Lieutenant Wade to confess to what had happened.”

  “You’ve accepted his story, then?” Simon asked, not turning from the window.

  I knew what he’d left unsaid. Or is it that you want to believe it?

  The Colonel Sahib glanced at my mother. It was she who answered Simon.

  “Perhaps we shouldn’t until there’s more proof. That’s the sensible thing to do. You’re absolutely right. It might be a good idea for you to speak to Lieutenant Wade. He might find it harder to convince you.”

  Simon turned now. I think he wanted to see if my mother was serious or mocking him. Relenting, he said, “All right. I’ll go tomorrow.”

  He said good night then and left. I walked to the door with him and put a hand on his arm. “What’s worrying you, Simon?” I asked softly, so that my parents wouldn’t hear me.

  “Who shot the Subedar, Bess? It wasn’t Lady Campbell.”

  I had lost sight of that. I should have asked Lieutenant Wade.

  “Let me go back with you. It’s important.”

  He didn’t answer at first, and I thought perhaps he might not. Then he said, “He’s lived by his wits. For ten long years. The Colonel doesn’t want to believe he was wrong in his judgment of the man. But I worked under Wade during that month following his return from England. He appeared to be the same person who’d left us weeks before.” He looked down the dark drive. “I don’t want your father to be deceived, that’s all.”

  And he was gone, disappearing into the black shadows.

  Whatever my parents had been discussing while I was seeing Simon out, they broke off when I came back into the room.

  Mother said, getting up from her chair, “I think I’ll call it a night, my dear. Richard?”

  “I’ll be up shortly,” he said, smiling at her.

  We listened to her footsteps on the stairs and then my father asked me, “Are you very sure of your facts?”

  “It’s the only explanation. Short of Lieutenant Wade’s guilt. I don’t think he’d have faced the Khyber Pass for Captain Bingham or Teddy or Sandy Hughes. He might have lied for them when the police came, saying something like, ‘I saw someone running from the house, but I couldn’t identify him. Not after all these years.’ ”

  “Why couldn’t he have done the same for Hazel Sheridan?”

  My father had a point. “I don’t know,” I said.

  The Colonel rose. “I’ll say good night. Sleep well, my dear.”

  I stayed in the drawing room for another hour looking for the answer to his question and still couldn’t find it.

  Lieutenant Wade had gone through a trial by fire that most men wouldn’t have survived. Why?

  Because he was innocent? Or because he felt the price wasn’t too high in order to live to savor his revenge?

  Why had Simon brought back all my doubts?

  The day before I was to leave for France, I was helping Iris pack my kit when I heard the telephone ringing in
my father’s study. My mother had gone into the village to take a jar of broth to the innkeeper’s daughter who was recovering from the influenza.

  Thinking it must be my father, who had had to travel up to London, I ran to answer it.

  But it wasn’t my father. It was Simon. His voice tight, he said, “Bess, I’m at Longleigh House. How soon can you get here?”

  “I don’t know—what’s happened?”

  “No time. Just—come.”

  I didn’t stop to change. I ran out to my motorcar and prayed that it would crank. It didn’t.

  There was nothing for it but to find my mother. My old bicycle was leaning against the shed wall, and I turned to it, got on, and pedaled as quick as I could to the village.

  Mother was just coming out of The Four Doves, and I hailed her before she could reach her motorcar.

  “Bess? What is it? You father . . . ?”

  “Simon wants me to come straightaway to Longleigh House. He must have gone to see Lieutenant Wade. And something’s gone wrong. He didn’t have time to explain.”

  “Here,” she said as I came to a skidding stop beside her, “I’ll help you put that bicycle into the rear seat.”

  We just managed it, and I turned the crank while she got behind the wheel.

  On the straight stretches, she let the motorcar run, the powerful engine roaring into life, taking the bumps and ruts in stride, my mother’s hands firm on the wheel.

  Her concentration made any conversation about what lay ahead impossible, but I couldn’t stop my own mind from spinning reason after reason for this urgent summons.

  Closer to Longleigh House the road twisted and turned like a tangled ribbon, shut in between the retaining walls, and we had to slow to a very sedate pace. Anxious to be there, I bit my lip to stop myself from begging Mother to hurry.

  And then the park walls came into view, followed by the gates. My mother pressed on up the drive. When we arrived in front of the steps, an orderly appeared, and I feared the worst.

  He asked if we would leave our motorcar near the stables, as Matron wished to keep the drive free.

  We went round to the stables as he asked, and I led Mother in through the garden entrance and straight to the stairs, praying as I did that Matron would be too busy to feel that I had been disrespectful.

  Someone called, but I didn’t stop. I’d have taken the stairs two at a time as the Colonel Sahib did, if I could.

  I knocked briefly at the door to Lieutenant Wade’s room, then opened it.

  He was sitting by the window as before, although his head had been bandaged again, and I had the sinking feeling that he had tried to escape and gone headfirst down the stairs.

  Walking forward, I said, “Why did you do anything so foolish?”

  He turned the wheeled chair toward me and at once my gaze went to his hands on the rims of the wheel.

  “Simon?” I looked at his bandaged face, the arm in a sling, his bandaged leg. “What has happened? Dear God, where is Lieutenant Wade?”

  “He’s safely ensconced in the next room. I’m all right, Bess. There’s nothing wrong with me.” He motioned to the chair across from his. “Sit down. There isn’t time to explain everything. But there’s a party of visitors, come to inspect the clinic and lift the morale of the men. I was just leaving when one of the Sisters mentioned that Princess Mary and Lady Campbell would be among the guests. Apparently they had visited another clinic when Sister Milton was there. The Sister was not very complimentary about Lady Campbell. I asked if we might play a little trick on Lady Campbell. She wasn’t very happy with the suggestion, but I pointed out that Lady Campbell knew Corporal Caswell, and it would be appreciated.” He gestured to the bed. On it lay a pretty box tied with an elegant bow.

  “What’s in there?” I asked, frowning. Simon was a master at improvising, but I couldn’t imagine what sort of gift he’s managed to find on such short notice that was suitable for someone like Lady Campbell.

  “Better if you don’t know,” he said, and I decided he was right.

  From the window I could hear the sounds of a motorcade arriving.

  “You made it just in time. All right, you’re my dedicated Sister. Where is your mother?”

  “Downstairs,” I said.

  “The patient screen is there. I’d like to have her stand behind it where she won’t be seen. But she can hear.”

  “I’ll find her.”

  But she was just coming up the stairs when I reached them. I said quietly, “Come with me. We’re about to have guests.”

  She recognized Simon more quickly than I did.

  “Are you hurt or is this an elaborate masquerade?” she asked.

  “A masquerade.”

  We could hear voices at the door below, a welcoming committee including Matron but not Dr. Gaines, who was still recuperating.

  The voices faded as the guests were ushered inside. I explained to my mother about the screen.

  “Inspections are usually a formality,” Mother said quickly. “The ground floor, the more presentable patients, a little speech about how fine the clinic is and the gratitude of the nation . . . I’ve done these visits before, with your father.”

  “She must come upstairs,” I said. I could hear the progress of the tour, fading and then returning.

  “I rather think Sister Milton will see that she does,” Simon told me, just as there was laughter from the hall below.

  Sounds of footsteps from the staircase. I held my breath. Then they were coming down the passage. Purposeful, impatient.

  “I hope Sister Milton doesn’t come to regret helping you,” I said quickly, as Mother disappeared behind the screen and I reached for the book on the table.

  There was a tap at the door, and I called, “Come.”

  It opened, and Lady Campbell walked in, smiling. “My dear man,” she said, crossing the room to Simon, “I hear you are an old friend wanting to see me.”

  It wasn’t until she was standing before Simon that she looked up and recognized me.

  “I was right. It’s Hazel Sheridan, isn’t it? I wanted to be sure you were safe,” he said. “I’ve worried these ten years.”

  There was stunned silence for several seconds. Then Lady Campbell said sharply, “Send her away. I don’t want her here.”

  Simon didn’t hesitate. “Sister, will you leave us for a moment?”

  “Yes, of course,” I said reluctantly, wishing I could step behind the screen where my mother was quietly waiting.

  I marched out, but instead of slamming the door, I left it ajar and walked away. I got as far as the stairs, untied my shoes, stepped out of them, and moved on stocking feet back to the door, all the while praying no one caught me there and ruined whatever it was Simon was up to. Through the crack, I could just see the bed, the gift, and Simon’s bandaged face in profile. But I could hear very well.

  “Who are you?” she was asking. “And why was that Crawford woman here?”

  “She saved my life in France.”

  “I don’t like her. Who are you? I won’t ask again.”

  “Didn’t you think to inquire who was in room twelve? Whoever you were expecting to find, it surely wasn’t someone who knew you had blood on your hands.”

  There was a long silence. “I thought you were dead.”

  “Everyone did. But now people are asking questions. I don’t know how much more I can suffer on your behalf.”

  “I never asked you to suffer, did I?”

  “No. But you knew very well I’d hold my tongue. Right now the staff here doesn’t know that I’m wanted. It’s a matter of time before the Yard or the MFP finds me. I’ll need your help if I’m to escape.”

  I could just see his good hand making a gesture. I thought he must be pointing out his bandages.

  “I’m not responsible for you. If you s
ay anything, I’ll deny I was even there. They’ll believe me. I never knew the Caswells, you see. Everyone knows I was never in Hampshire. There’s nothing to connect me with you.”

  “I still have one of the Christmas photographs.”

  “I was a child then. I’m very different now.”

  “You’ve become a very beautiful woman.”

  “Don’t flatter me, Lieutenant. I’m leaving.”

  “Tell me why you killed that family? All of us had better reasons to hate them than you did. All of us had better reasons to kill the Caswell family than you did.”

  “Yes, of course, that was always my safeguard. As for my reasons, that impossible girl—Gwendolyn—wanted to be invited to my wedding. She wouldn’t go away, I knew that. She was always a tenacious little beast. She would show up at my door one day, claiming acquaintance. I can’t keep the Princess waiting. It’s rude.”

  “I have something for you. A parting gift, as it were.”

  She must have seen the box on the bed. I glimpsed her as she crossed the room and reached for it. “For me? I don’t trust you,” she said. “I’ll take it with me and decide later whether I wish to open it or not.”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. It’s rather personal.”

  I could hear people in the hall below, taking their leave. Someone called up the stairs, “Lady Campbell?” and then the remark, “She must have met an officer she knew.”

  I was praying now that no one would start up to find her, half my mind on the distraction, the other half trying to hear what was going on inside that room,

  The sound of someone opening a box. And then I heard Lady Campbell say, “Where did you find this?”

  “You left it in that poor woman’s shed. You left her to take the blame if I wouldn’t.”

  I realized that the revolver must have been in that box. My heart was in my throat. Large as it was, the room wasn’t big enough for a gun to be fired without hitting someone. Simon. My mother.