Let Darkness Bury the Dead

by Maureen Jennings

  “How about this one? It’s from a K.W.”

  Fiona rolled the dummy’s eyes from side to side. It was actually comical and there was some laughter. She manipulated the jaw.

  “Oh, aye. K.W. I remember that one. At first I thought it might be from Kaiser Wilhelm himself. After all, my column is called ‘Don’t Worry.’ I thought he might be in need of an answer.”

  Percy whistled shrilly.

  Fiona had Miss Happ face the audience.

  “Wha’ should I tell him, ladies and gentlemen? Should the Kaiser wurry?”

  A few bolder people shouted out, “Yes!” There was more applause.

  So far so good. Fiona was certainly winning them over.

  “All right. Let’s go on.” Fiona fished out another piece of paper from the satchel.

  “Dear Miss Happ, I am engaged to a wonderful young woman. However, since I have been over here, I find more and more that I have become reliant on our daily rum ration that the captain doles out in the morning. It cheers me up enormously. Same with the other chaps. My question is this. My fiancée is strict temperance, as was I before I came overseas. Should I tell her about my secret vice or let sleeping dogs lie? Yours, B.D., Corporal.”

  “What was your answer?” Fiona asked Miss Happ.

  More head-turning and eye-rolling. “I said, Dear B.D., You have absolutely no reason to wurry. When you come back you won’t be able to get rum anywhere in Ontario.”

  The woman seated beside Murdoch muttered, “Good thing too.”

  Most of the audience, however, laughed.

  Fiona took out a third sheet.

  “Here’s another letter, from a woman. Do you get many letters from women, Miss Happ?”

  “Oh yes. Lots.”

  “Here we go. B.J. writes, Dear Miss Happ, Every month I send my husband a comfort box and I always include a homemade fruitcake. Recently he wrote to me and said would I please not send him any more fruitcake even if it was homemade. It gives him a stomach ache. He shared it with some of his chums and they all got stomach aches as well. My dilemma is this. Should I fire my cook?”

  “And what did you advise?” Fiona asked.

  “I said, Under no circumstances should you fire your cook. Good help is impossible to get these days. You’d be better off to get another husband.”

  That got a huge bellow of laughter. The difficulty of maintaining servants was an issue many in this audience seemed to be familiar with.

  Fiona replaced that letter in the satchel and picked out another. “This is also from a woman. Dear Miss Happ, I am writing about a delicate matter concerning my fiancé. Recently he was asked to join the Comedy Company, which is part of the Princess Pats regiment. They perform a very important role in entertaining the troops. Kevin likes this very much and has been most successful in the roles of Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and other comic characters. He says he likes playing female parts.”

  Fiona paused and gave an ostentatious sigh as if the letter were sort of boring. Miss Happ waved her hand. “Keep going. The guid part is coming up.”

  “I have received a letter from him. He wondered if, when he returns, I might be so kind as to lend him some of my frocks to go about in. He particularly likes my polka-dot afternoon dress.”

  There was more laughter, although Murdoch thought some of the audience seemed uncomfortable. Fiona waited until it had subsided.

  “Miss Happ, can you advise me? Should I worry?”

  “And what did you say?”

  “I told her there is no cause for concern. Polka dots are most becoming, especially in the afternoon.”

  Surprised laughter. They hadn’t seen that coming.

  Fiona fished in the satchel, making a big production of sorting out another letter. “All right. Here’s one from a man. He says, Dear Miss Happ, I have been called up and I’m expecting to leave soon. My problem is this. I would like to have more cuddles from my sweetheart as you never know if I will return alive. She is a loving girl but she has always been on the stiff side.”

  Fiona moved the dummy’s arm so she patted herself.

  “Sounds like me.”

  Fiona continued. “Will her attitude change when we are married? Should I worry? Yours, P.O. What did you tell him?”

  “I gave him a properly sensible answer. Dear P.O., Don’t worry about what your fiancée will be like when she’s your wife. I suggest you be grateful for what she gives you now. Don’t forget, very soon, the only thing you will be embracing is a wet sandbag that probably smells like dead men. A little stiffness is preferable.”

  Percy again shouted out “Hear, hear!” But the response from the rest of the audience was less enthusiastic. Fiona was edging into darker territory. Murdoch hoped she would not go too far.

  Miss Happ surveyed the theatre. “My, my, this is a well-heeled group, isn’t it? I’m sure they’ll cough up a lot of money tonight.”

  Fiona spoke to the dummy in a stage whisper. “Cough up isn’t a very polite expression, Miss Happ. You promised you would be on your best behaviour.”

  “What should I have said? Is ‘expectorate’ better? They will expectorate a lot of money?”

  A more subdued response at that one.

  “No, of course that’s not better.” Fiona frowned.

  She swivelled Miss Happ’s head so they were looking at each other.

  “Miss Williams, I have a wee problem.”

  “What is it?”

  “We’re supposed to make the people laugh, are we not? Give them a good time.”

  “That’s the intention.”

  “We were told that if they are happy, they will be more likely to ‘spit out,’ sorry, I mean donate money.”

  “I suppose you could put it that way. So what is the problem, Miss Happ?”

  “There is nothing funny about this war. I can’t find much to joke about when healthy young men are being maimed or killed on a daily basis.”

  Silence in the audience, then Percy yelled, “Right! Hear, hear.”

  Fiona looked over at him. She made Miss Happ wave her hand.

  “Thank you, laddie. It’s always guid to speak to like minds.”

  There was a muttering and shuffling among the audience. The MC stepped out from the wings.

  She’s skating too close to the edge, thought Murdoch. He could feel himself growing tense.

  Fiona, however, didn’t seem daunted. “We have time for one more letter. This one is from H.T. Dear Miss Happ, I am engaged to a wonderful girl and we have set the date but I don’t know how to tell her I won’t be able to attend.”

  Fiona pretended to drop the letter so she could emphasize the punch line. She picked it up.

  “Sorry. Where was I?…I won’t be able to attend. The problem is I am to be shot at dawn in two days’ time.”

  There was a gasp from the audience. Definitely not funny.

  Fiona kept on. “In a moment of weakness, I fell asleep at my post. I hadn’t had any sleep for three days but I know that is no excuse. Should I tell my girl the truth? I don’t want her to think I am a deserter.”

  There was utter silence in the theatre. The MC was clearly unable to decide what to do.

  Fiona raised her voice. “That’s a tough one. How did you answer?”

  “I said as follows. Dear H.T., A wedding is much more fun than a funeral. Run away when you can and marry the girl. Don’t worry. The firing squad will soon find a replacement for you.”

  From the second row, a man called out loudly, “Get her off!”

  “Hurrah! Hurrah!” Percy was on his feet. Jack seemed to be trying to get him to sit down once more.

  The man behind him also stood up and tried to catch hold of his arm. Percy shook him off. Two soldiers sitting nearby also jumped up.

  “Are you a conchie, woman?” yelled one of them. “We don’t want your sort here.”

  “That’s right,” yelled Percy. “Tell ’em, chaps. Tell them conchies. We’re the ones doing your dirty work for you.”
r />   The MC rushed on stage pulling little Evangeline by the hand.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. Let’s have some order, please. I’m sure Miss Williams didn’t mean to give offence.”

  “Yes, she did,” called the soldier. “She’s a disgrace to our noble women. They’re who we’re fighting for.”

  A couple of women in front of Murdoch waved.

  “Never mind her. Let’s get on to the slackers,” shouted another soldier a few rows down from Murdoch.

  “I’m with you,” called out Percy. “Yellow-bellies all of them. They need a taste of the real thing.”

  “There’s some of them over there,” shouted the soldier who’d started things.

  Indeed there was a trio of natty-looking young men seated near the stage.

  “I’d go overseas if I was allowed,” returned one of them, angrily, but the other two looked frightened.

  Percy had managed to shake off Jack’s restraint and started to cross the aisle to the men. The first two soldiers soon joined him.

  “Sure you would,” spat out one. “Words are cheap. You could sign up if you wanted to.”

  Murdoch got to his feet but he was stuck in the middle of the row of seats and hampered by unyielding legs. The situation seemed to get out of hand with incredible rapidity. One of the soldiers lunged over the seats and grabbed a man by the lapels.

  “Why aren’t you in uniform? What are you, a Frenchie? A conchie? A lousy coward?”

  Suddenly other men were on their feet, shouting, waving their fists. All of the front rows got involved, a couple of civilians siding with the first trio against the soldiers. Percy was still yelling and waving his arms, but Jack was nowhere to be seen. Even older men were getting mixed up in the fray, not to mention a few straitlaced matrons. There was so much chaos it was hard to determine who was with whom.

  Murdoch finally pushed past his neighbours and started toward the stage but got stuck between the patrons who were already trying to leave and the others who were moving in the direction of the melee. It was impossible to make any headway. He could see Fiona abruptly pick up the dummy and walk off the stage. Her head was high. She was singing at the top of her voice, another popular song, “Don’t take my darling boy away…”

  The MC gestured into the wings and the piano player came on stage, sat down, and began to play loudly. The MC called out, “Order, please. Order!”

  He waved frantically in the other direction and the Five Farmerettes marched back onto the stage. The piano player thumped out “Mademoiselle from Armentières” again.

  Murdoch shoved harder. “I’m a police officer. Make way. Make way.”

  The patrons yielded reluctantly, and finally he reached the front. Percy and the two soldiers were trading punches with the trio they had challenged. Jack had joined them but was still trying to play the role of peacemaker. Murdoch yelled, “Police. Desist!” It didn’t make any difference. Too much blood was up. Men were falling over the seats and continuing the fight in the aisles.

  He grabbed the nearest soldier by his belt, hauled him out of the circle, and shoved him to the ground. “I’m a police officer. Stop this.”

  The soldier’s eyes were literally red with rage. Murdoch was having trouble holding him down. Nothing was going to stop him inflicting as much damage as he could. A big, tough-looking fellow had grabbed Jack, who was trying to hold him off. Murdoch saw Percy dragged down to the floor, a man pummelling him. Murdoch had no idea how this uneven fight was going to conclude; he was about to let go of his soldier and go to Jack when help came from an unexpected quarter. Rubridge elbowed his way through and was able to get the attackers out of the way. It might still have gone badly for Jack and Percy, not to mention Murdoch himself, but just then the rear doors burst open and a half dozen constables came racing in, blowing their whistles and swinging their batons indiscriminately. Some women were now screaming. The Farmerettes bellowed out their song to deaf ears.

  Murdoch felt rather than saw Jack slide to the ground behind him. A man in an evening suit had come around to the side and punched him in the head. Murdoch could feel his own blood fired. He took a swing at the assailant and caught him so hard on the jaw that his own knuckles stung. The man dropped like a felled ox. Then it was all wild swings and shoving as two of the constables came to his aid.

  Finally the exhausted fighters started to slow down. Bodies were lying on the floor, including an inert Percy. Murdoch struggled to get his breath. Space opened up around him as the constables asserted themselves. He was relieved to see that Jack was sitting up, although he was holding a handkerchief to his nose, which was bleeding profusely.

  “Are you all right?” Murdoch called to him.

  “I’m all right. Where’s Percy?”

  “He’s over there.”

  Percy was lying across the aisle, not moving. The man Murdoch had knocked down was struggling to sit up, and Rubridge pounced on him. Hauling him to his feet, he twisted the man’s arms behind his back.

  “Constable, cuff him,” he called to one of the officers.

  The constable snapped on a pair of handcuffs.

  Murdoch was in no mood to be sympathetic to Jack’s assailant. “Lock him in the cell.”

  “I’ll go with him,” said Rubridge. The two of them half led, half dragged the dazed man away.

  Murdoch went over to Jack, who was wincing as he tried to stand.

  “Stay where you are,” said Murdoch.

  “No, Pa, I’ve got to see how Percy is,” said Jack, and Murdoch had no choice but to help him.

  They edged closer to the prone body. Percy’s head was turned to one side and his eyes were open. For a minute, Murdoch thought he was dead, but then he saw him take a big, shuddering breath. Jack dropped to his knees beside his friend.

  “Percy. Percy. Are you all right?” Although he was trying to stem the flow with the sodden handkerchief, Jack was dripping blood all over him.

  Murdoch knelt down on the other side. He could see no visible injury. He felt for Percy’s pulse; it was thumping strong and fast.

  He called to a constable he recognized. “Clark, over here.” Murdoch indicated Jack. “I want you to escort this man to the hospital. He has probably suffered a broken nose. Did the police ambulance come with you?”

  “They’re on their way, sir.”

  “Good.” Murdoch addressed his son now. “I want you to go with this constable. I don’t think Percy is seriously hurt. I will deal with him.”

  Jack was about to protest and Murdoch raised his hand to stop him. “I’m not giving you an option. When you’ve got fixed up, go straight home. I’m going to be here for a while dealing with this lot. You’ll get a report on Percy then.”

  “But—”

  “You heard me. See, he’s breathing normally. His pulse is elevated but not alarmingly so.”

  Jack touched his friend’s head gently. “It’s all right, Perce. My pa will look after you. We’re at home now.”

  Percy’s eyes fluttered, and Murdoch assumed he’d heard what Jack said.

  Jack got to his feet. Murdoch did likewise. He was relieved to see that the nosebleed seemed to be slowing down.

  “He’s probably gone into shock,” said Jack. He turned to his father. “It’s important that he’s not left alone. He needs to be reassured he’s here, not over there, and that he’s safe. He can get confused.”

  At that moment, Fiona Williams reappeared in front of the stage. When she saw Murdoch and Jack, she picked her way toward them, looking pale and frightened.

  “Jack, are you all right?”

  “Right as rain,” answered Jack. “Just a little nosebleed.”

  “This is awful. I feel so responsible,” she said.

  “Don’t be silly,” said Jack. “Some things have to be said.”

  “Maybe,” snapped Murdoch, “but you were very foolish, young lady, to do what you did under these circumstances. This is a fundraiser. People are here because they want to help our soldiers. M
any of them have lost loved ones.”

  “If people don’t want to hear the truth about things that’s their problem, not Fiona’s,” said his son.

  “There’s a right time and a wrong time to say the truth. Nobody wants it rammed down their throats.”

  Jack was looking angry. “There’s a talk we need to have, Pa.”

  Murdoch snapped back, “I’m ready when you are.”

  Constable Clark came forward. “The ambulance has arrived, sir. Shall I escort this gentleman now?”

  “Yes. Jack, go with him.” Murdoch turned to the constable. “He’s my son. He’s not under arrest so you don’t need to lock him up. Just get a doctor to have a look at him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Jack, I’ll come and see you later,” said Fiona. “And I truly am sorry. I’ll do whatever I can to set things right.”

  Before Jack could answer, Murdoch said, “What you can do is sit beside the young man who’s lying on the floor. He’s in a state of shock. Jack here thinks he needs to be talked to in a gentle, reassuring way until he recovers his wits. Can you do that? Gentle and reassuring, mind.”

  “Yes, of course. What’s his name?”

  “Percy McKinnon,” answered Jack. “Thank you, Fiona. Oh, by the way, when he’s in one of his states, he sometimes babbles nonsense. Don’t take it seriously.”

  Murdoch interrupted. “Jack. You heard me. Go and get yourself looked after.”

  Jack allowed himself to be led away by the constable. Fiona crouched down beside Percy.

  “It’s all right,” she said softly. “You’re safe now.”

  “I’ve got work to do,” said Murdoch. “Fetch me when he comes to completely.”

  He left her to it and went over to where Rubridge was addressing a group of smartly dressed men and women whom he had ordered to remain in their seats. Another constable was collecting names and addresses. Murdoch could see that most of them were looking either bewildered or indignant. They were not accustomed to riots coming into their orbit.

  RULES OF OFFICER’S MESS

  4. The Mess Committee have the right to strike off the name of any member whose behaviour is prejudicial to the welfare of the Mess and/or the comfort of other members.