A Casualty of War: A Bess Crawford Mystery (Bess Crawford Mysteries)

by Charles Todd

  I could understand. I’d never had children, but I had read so many letters from the families of the men I’d taken care of. I tried to write to all those whose names I knew. Some of the men died with Unknown on their records, too badly wounded for me to learn any more about them. I’d felt I’d let them down somehow. But if the Army couldn’t identify them, how could I?

  Sister Potter was looking out the window. “I think your Sergeant-Major has come for you. And is that Captain Travis with him? Ask them to come in—I’ll make a fresh pot of tea.”

  She saw my hesitation. “I won’t eat him, much less turn him over to the police. But I’d like to form my own opinion, if you don’t mind.”

  What could I do but go to her door and ask Simon to come in and bring the Captain?

  I could see that he was reluctant, quietly saying something to Simon about staying in the motorcar, but I smiled. “It’s all right. Please, do come.”

  And by the time she’d brought in the fresh pot of tea, two large men were sitting in her small parlor, their uneasiness writ large in their eyes, in spite of my assurances.

  She walked in, summed up the situation at a glance, and said, “Captain Travis? It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. And to see you again, Sergeant-Major. It quite makes me feel as if I’m back in Trieste for a few days’ leave. The hotel was always full of British officers and other ranks.”

  They smiled, and the next ten minutes were taken up with military matters, questions about the war there, and her views on the strength of the Italian Army and its officers, as well as the political situation now that there was an Armistice.

  When we finally came back to England and the problems at hand, she said as bluntly to the Captain as she’d spoken to me, “Even if he were alive, James would never have tried to kill you.”

  He cast a questioning glance in my direction, then answered, “I know that now. But you have to remember, in the midst of a withdrawal, the machine gunners finding their mark, I wasn’t expecting to be attacked by my own side. Just before the Lieutenant brought the rifle to bear, I saw his face, set and determined. He knew what he was doing; he wasn’t frightened and shooting at anything, friend or foe. I watched him smile when he saw he’d hit his mark. And then I don’t remember much after that.”

  “And you thought he resembled a great-uncle?”

  “That was what ran through my mind as I was facing him. It wasn’t until later that I remembered James. It was hard to believe—but I had the evidence of my own eyes. James looked more like my great-uncle than I do. I wanted to know why he should turn on me. And if I had been the only one he shot.”

  “And were you?”

  “In the chaos of that withdrawal, no one even saw me getting shot. Or knew what had become of the other officer. Still, I tried to find him, and I was almost convinced I’d imagined him. Until it happened a second time.”

  “Were you expecting to be shot a second time—by the same man?” Sister Potter asked. “Were you looking for him to find you again?”

  “Good God, I wasn’t expecting to be shot by anyone. Not if I could help it.”

  Satisfied, she nodded. “You have my sympathies, Captain. But you must also remember that mistakes are made in the heat of battles.”

  “I’ve had more than enough time to think. You weren’t in that small, poorly lit, empty room in the clinic for days, listening to other men scream or beg for mercy or just go on and on and on until you thought you’d run mad just from listening to them. You don’t sleep during those nights, and you can’t sleep during the day, even if those men are too exhausted to go on screaming. Not with the Sisters and orderlies and doctors looking in on you every half hour to be sure you haven’t found a way to kill yourself.”

  Something in his voice as he spoke reached Sister Potter, and she said, “I have nursed such men. I still hear their cries in my sleep.”

  They looked at each other, and I thought, I’m so glad she demanded that he come into the cottage. For it was one thing for me to believe in him, because I had been there just after he was shot. I knew, firsthand, what the Captain had felt. And whatever reservations Simon might have had he’d kept to himself. But Sister Potter had no reason to believe a word. She could have sided with the doctors and the clinic. And so her opinion mattered. Especially on the heels of Mrs. Travis’s tirades.

  I said, “We must go. The longer we stay here in the village, the more likely it will be that Constable Simpson will be told we’re here.”

  “I wish you would wait and speak to Mrs. Caldwell. I think it would be good for her as well. If no one else has, I’m sure her husband has told her about Captain Travis. She cared so, it will have hurt her to think someone believed James could have done such a thing.”

  “I’m afraid to stay any longer,” I said. “But if you could tell her what we’ve told you? It might help.”

  “What about the will?”

  The Captain spoke for himself. “I have a home in Barbados. It’s all I want.”

  Sister Potter sighed. “I understand. Yes, you must go before there’s more trouble. I’m sorry you’ve had such a sad introduction to Sinclair. Godspeed, Captain.”

  She was ushering us toward the door when there came a thudding knock on the wooden panels, and we froze where we were, like figures in a pantomime. But this wasn’t acting. This was fear.

  Chapter 17

  Sister Potter said at once, “I don’t like the sound of that. You must go. Out the kitchen door. Quickly!”

  “There’s the motorcar,” I said. “It’s in front of the cottage, for all to see.”

  The thudding came again.

  Simon stepped forward and opened the door.

  Constable Simpson stood there, and Mr. Ellis was just behind him, watching anxiously.

  “I’ve been given evidence that indicates Captain Travis”—the Constable peered into the shadows behind Simon—“has information relevant to the suspicious death of Mr. Spencer, in Dr. Harrison’s surgery. I’ve been asked to take him into custody and see that he’s taken to Bury St. Edmunds to Inspector Howe, who is charged with looking into this murder.”

  Listening, I thought it sounded as if he’d been prompted by Mr. Ellis.

  Simon stood his ground. “Has Inspector Howe ordered his arrest? What evidence is there, beyond Mr. Ellis’s claims, that Captain Travis is even a suspect?”

  When Simon was in command, men listened.

  Constable Simpson glanced quickly over his shoulder, looking for reassurance from Mr. Ellis. The man nodded, and the Constable turned back to us. “We are actively searching for Mr. Spencer’s killer. We believe the Captain can help us with our inquiries.”

  Behind me, I heard Sister Potter respond quietly for my ears only, “It’s true. The police have knocked on every door. Including mine this morning.” Dropping her voice to a whisper, she said to Captain Travis, still in the front room, “Go through to the kitchen. Quickly! Let me deal with the Constable.”

  She stepped past Simon. “You’ve already questioned me. The motorcar belongs to the Sergeant-Major here. You must ask him where the Captain is. Sister Crawford came to my house without him. I will swear to that in a courtroom.”

  It was her own Matron’s voice, firm, authoritative, confident, and it was persuasive. Yet she’d told the truth. So far as it went. Constable Simpson was confused. Once more I saw him turn to Mr. Ellis for help.

  Frustrated, Mr. Ellis said, “I demand that you search her house.”

  The Constable, frowning, said, “I can’t. I don’t have a warrant.”

  No one so far had questioned Simon. I moved forward. “I came to say good-bye to Sister Potter. We are on our way back to London. If you want to speak to Captain Travis, I suggest you look in the church.” And I sent up a silent prayer that none of the neighbors looking out a window or someone in the street had seen Captain Travis come through Sister Potter’s door.

  Constable Simpson was in a quandary, and he wasn’t possessed of a strong enough cha
racter to withstand Mr. Ellis.

  The solicitor was saying, “I’ll stay here while you bring back Inspector Howe. There’s my motorcar. Can you manage it? Yes? Then drive to Bury as fast as you can, and bring Inspector Howe—and a warrant—back with you as soon as possible.”

  “He could walk right by you,” the Constable protested. “You can’t arrest him.”

  “He won’t get by me,” Mr. Ellis answered him roundly. “And if he tries, I’ll follow him.”

  “What about the Sister and the Sergeant-Major? They’ll spirit him out of the cottage somehow while I’m away.”

  I thanked Sister Potter for tea, said good-bye, and walked past Simon, past the Constable, and past Mr. Ellis, who eyed me sourly. He’d have stopped me if he could, but he wanted Captain Travis more than he wanted me. After the briefest hesitation, Simon followed me. I had no idea where Captain Travis had got to, but my greatest fear was that he would feel he’d caused enough trouble for everyone and gallantly give himself up.

  But he kept his head. We reached the motorcar without looking back, and then Sister Potter called, “Don’t forget—you promised to say good-bye to Mrs. Caldwell before you leave the village. She’ll be very upset if you don’t. I’d like very much to come with you, but I don’t trust these men not to invade my house while my back is turned, and I refuse to have them turn it upside down hunting for someone who isn’t even here.” And with that she shut her door with such firmness it sounded like a slam, right in Constable Simpson’s face.

  As Simon bent to turn the crank, I saw the Constable’s frustration as he moved away from the door and said something to the solicitor.

  And then we were pulling away. I tried to look as if I weren’t worried about the situation at the cottage. For all I knew, Sister Potter had already smuggled the Captain out the kitchen door, but where would he go? And what about the neighbors who might see him leaving in such an odd fashion while the village Constable was standing outside the other door? They were sure to take notice.

  But there was nothing I could do.

  As if he’d heard my worry, Simon commented, “We can’t help him if we’re taken up with him.”

  That was true. Comforting—but not erasing all of my worry.

  “Where do we go? The rectory?”

  I gave it some thought. “Let’s try the church first.”

  He drove up the lane and stopped in front of St. Mary’s. I got down and he joined me as we walked across the churchyard to the south porch. I was reminded again that I’d left the Captain here for much of the night, and the figure I’d seen walking in the shadows had—so I thought then—just come from the surgery. In fact, I’d thought it might well be Spencer himself . . .

  We had just reached the porch when I heard a motorcar and looked back the way we’d come. Constable Simpson had been persuaded to go fetch Inspector Howe. Mr. Ellis was still there by Sister Potter’s door.

  The south door creaked on its hinges as I walked into the nave. It was bright now, but I still remembered it in the dark, with only moonlight and Simon’s torch letting us find our way.

  I heard something and looked toward the altar. Mrs. Caldwell came out from behind the pulpit, an empty vase in her hands.

  “Oh,” she said, seeing who it was. “I thought it might be my husband. Have you come for him?”

  “I spoke to you a few days ago. About James Travis,” I began, walking toward her. “Perhaps you remember telling me about the plaque?”

  Her gaze strayed toward it. “Yes, I do,” she said, a note of sadness in her voice, and then she added briskly, “I’m told you’ve been upsetting his mother. Mrs. Travis.”

  I stopped midway down the aisle. “Not on purpose—well, I did want her to help someone, but she refused.”

  “The heir? James’s heir?” She turned to put the vase down, looked at her hands, dusted them together, and then said, “I have wondered . . . what sort of person he might be.”

  Then Mr. Caldwell hadn’t told her yet about the confrontation at The Hall.

  “He’s from an island in the Caribbean. Barbados. I met him before he was wounded. And I liked him. Very much. I also happened to be in the forward aid station close by his regiment. He was wounded. Twice.” I was choosing my words carefully. “He’s been in a clinic in Wiltshire, recovering.”

  “Oh. How sad.”

  I had a feeling she meant it.

  “I don’t think Mrs. Travis cared much for him, even before she met him. And the meeting didn’t go well. She’s accused him of all sorts of things. I expect she hopes that by doing so she can set him aside as heir.”

  Mrs. Caldwell’s mouth tightened. “I think her grief has turned her mind. A little. It’s—I’ve said nothing, my husband’s living is in her hands. But if James made this man his heir, then he wanted him to inherit The Hall.” She looked again toward the brass plaque. “It was a great tragedy that he was killed,” she went on quietly. “I know that every man who died belonged to someone, and his loss was felt deeply. But this was James, and his mother had suffered enough heartache. Sometimes God is cruel. I don’t know why. People tell me that it only makes you stronger, to face loss and survive. I don’t believe they know what they’re saying. It doesn’t make you stronger, it simply breaks you in ways you can’t recover from.”

  I realized all at once that she was talking about herself and her own loss. About the young man who had taken her son’s place, in some obscure fashion, and given her something to cling to after the unimaginable sorrow of a child dying young. Just as Sister Potter had told us.

  “Captain Travis needs help,” I said, after giving her a moment. “Let me explain.”

  And I did, as concisely as possible. Simon was standing at the south porch door, watching The Pottery. Time was running away with every tick of the clock in the tower.

  She listened without interrupting me, then when I’d finished, she said resolutely, “Tell me what I can do.”

  I was surprised. I’d only come because Sister Potter had insisted, and because we didn’t dare leave the village without Captain Travis. Mrs. Caldwell was an unlikely ally, but I was grateful for her willingness to help someone in need.

  “He’s trapped in the cottage with Sister Potter, and the door is being guarded by Mr. Ellis while Constable Simpson goes to Bury to bring back Inspector Howe.”

  “This is a sanctuary church. Did you know? Perhaps Sister Potter remembered. If we can get him this far, the police can’t touch him. The question is, how can we accomplish that?”

  Behind me, Simon stirred. “If I remember correctly, sanctuary was abolished by James the First.”

  “Was it indeed?” She seemed surprised. “Well, we’ll just have to think of another way.” Glancing up at the light from the windows, she went on. “It’s getting dark. I can find my way to the kitchen door of Sister Potter’s house, and guide this Captain Travis to meet you at an appointed place. By the time Inspector Howe reaches the village, he’ll be gone and Sister Potter won’t find herself in trouble for harboring him.”

  I realized that she wanted to see this man James Travis had made his heir. Very badly. I knew then I could trust her.

  It was the best solution we could come up with, to allow her to guide him, and we agreed, after much debate, that we would meet her—and the Captain—at The Swan in Clare, the village just down the road from this one. “It’s rather a long walk,” she told us anxiously. “Can he manage it?”

  “Yes, I believe so,” I told her.

  “Then I’ll see you at The Swan. You can’t miss it. And no one will think it odd if we meet there. This village might just as well be on the moon, as far as Clare is concerned.”

  She left her shears, the vase, and the rest of the holly branches she had been trimming, then took off her apron. She was wearing her coat against the chill in the church, and she pulled her gloves from a pocket, along with a woolen cap.

  We hurried back to the motorcar, and Mrs. Caldwell got quickly into the rear while I
watched Mr. Ellis. His back to us, he was staring at the door of The Pottery as if he could see through the wood. Mrs. Caldwell ducked out of sight as we drove down Church Lane and turned toward the outskirts of the village. Mr. Ellis, hearing us, turned quickly to peer at the motorcar, expecting to see Captain Travis with us. We ignored him and drove on.

  When we were beyond the last house in the village, Simon pulled to the verge and Mrs. Caldwell got out. We sat there, watching her disappear in the gathering dusk, for the sun had dropped behind a bank of clouds.

  As we waited, I said to Simon, “How on earth did you know when sanctuary had been canceled?”

  He was watching her walk on, and didn’t turn. “An odd fact that somehow was fixed in my mind.”

  I didn’t believe him, but this was no time to be pressing him for details. I still didn’t know exactly what he thought about the Captain, but he’d done his best to help.

  After a few minutes, when we were fairly certain that she wasn’t coming back, we drove on to Clare and quickly found the black-and-white Tudor inn with its sign above the door: the swan.