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

by Charles Todd

  “What does he have to do with this matter?” Major Davison asked, frowning.

  Neither Simon nor I had mentioned him in the course of our account. We hadn’t wanted to muddy the waters by bringing up the issue of who had actually shot the Captain.

  “He’s presently visiting Mrs. Travis,” Simon answered for me. “Back from France on compassionate leave. His aunt has been ill. He’d served with James and took the opportunity to call on Mrs. Travis. She’s had several imposters trying to take advantage of her circumstances. He might be another. Or not. I haven’t served with him, sir, I don’t know anything about him except what he’s told us.”

  Major Davison commented, “I don’t recognize the name either.”

  My father made a note. “I’ll see what I can discover.”

  Ten minutes later, we had settled our account and were walking out the door. Simon held my coat for me, and I was glad of its warmth as we stepped out into the evening wind. My father was driving with the Major back to London, and he promised to put in a call to Melinda as soon as he reached the city.

  “She will know the best person to represent him, someone who isn’t from Suffolk, I should think,” he was saying.

  It went against the grain to leave a task unfinished. But I was wise enough to know that I had done all I could. I would still be here when Melinda arrived, and that would give me a chance to tell her what Simon and I had discovered. I could also introduce her to Mrs. Caldwell and Sister Potter.

  We had just reached our motorcars when a man stepped out of the shadows from the side of another vehicle left there.

  I drew in a breath before I recognized him, and I felt Simon tense at my side.

  It was Inspector Howe.

  We stopped, and my father moved forward.

  “Inspector,” he said coldly.

  “I’m glad I caught you,” he replied, sarcasm heavy in his voice. “Captain Travis has just attempted to murder Mrs. Travis.”

  “That’s impossible. He’s in a cell in your police station.”

  The Inspector relished what he was about to say. I could see it in his face, even in the dimly lit square where we were standing.

  “But he’s not. I released him an hour after you left the station. And the first thing he did was to seek out Mrs. Travis. Dr. Harrison is with her now.”

  He held out his palm. In it was a spent bullet from a revolver.

  Chapter 21

  We stood there, appalled.

  I was the first to recover. “But why? Why did you release him? You were convinced of his guilt.”

  “That was before Mr. Ellis went to speak to Mrs. Caldwell earlier today. He felt responsible for her having been swept up in the Captain’s capture, and he went to apologize. She told him it was she that Mr. Spencer had come to see, that he was bringing her information regarding Captain Travis, most of which she’d already learned elsewhere by that time, and she showed him a little notebook that was filled with other cases that might have been responsible for the man’s death. Then she confessed that she was afraid a trial would only serve to embarrass Mrs. Travis and herself when the Captain was exonerated.”

  “That’s a likely outcome,” the Colonel Sahib agreed. “Go on.”

  “And so he sent a telegram to this Florian Agency asking about Mr. Spencer’s clients. He got a reply, saying that Mr. Spencer had been involved in a very nasty black market case just before taking up Mrs. Caldwell’s request. There had been threats against Mr. Spencer; it was one of the reasons he was sent to Suffolk, to get him out of London.” There was bitterness in his voice. “Ellis was a fool.”

  Still in shock, I said nothing. We hadn’t known any of this. When I rang Florian, the voice on the telephone refused to help me. Had the Agency feared that an unknown caller might somehow be connected to the death threats and was trying to find him?

  “I told Mr. Ellis in no uncertain terms that the Captain must not leave Bury until the inquest, but Mr. Ellis insisted that he would be safer in The George under your eye. But you weren’t there, were you?”

  We stood there in the cold air, taking all this in.

  “Get on with it, man. How did Travis attack Mrs. Travis?” my father asked.

  “Ellis and Mrs. Travis were in the parlor, the room with those long windows. She was a perfect target, lit by the lamps. So Ellis told me. And someone fired from just outside, not ten feet away. The shot went through the sleeve of her gown, just grazing her. By the time Ellis and a houseguest who had heard the shot went out to look, Travis had gone. They drove directly to The George, but he wasn’t there—because he’d gone to The Hall the minute Ellis turned his back on him.”

  My heart sank. “But where could he have found a revolver?” I asked. Simon had his own in his valise.

  “It belonged to Henry Douglas.” When we stared blankly at him, he added, “The owner of The George. It was his father’s. He fought in the Boer War.”

  “But how did Captain Travis know it was there?”

  “Apparently while the staff was preparing dinner, he ransacked Douglas’s rooms.”

  I wanted to ask why Captain Travis would have taken such a risk when there was a service weapon ready to hand. It made no sense. But someone had known about Henry Douglas’s souvenir.

  “Where is Captain Travis now?” my father asked.

  “The village is being searched. I’ve already spoken to Mrs. Caldwell, and she was shocked at the allegations that Travis had tried to shoot Mrs. Travis. She refused to believe it. But she gave me leave to search the Vicarage—which told me he wasn’t there. Nor was he at Sister Potter’s. She was cooking her dinner.”

  “I intend to look into this,” my father said, turning toward his motorcar. Simon and I hurried to his, and Inspector Howe stepped forward, begging a lift to Sinclair.

  With the Inspector’s presence in the rear seat, I couldn’t talk freely with Simon. But in the glow of the headlamps, I could see his face, set in angry lines.

  A thought kept running through my mind. A revolver was accurate at that distance. Captain Travis had been in the trenches, he must have been a better shot—he would have hit his target, and Mrs. Travis would be dead by now. And his way to the inheritance cleared . . . I didn’t want to think about that.

  “Where was Lieutenant Bonham when the shot was fired?” I asked the Inspector, and he leaned forward to answer me.

  “Dressing for dinner. His shirt wasn’t even buttoned, according to Ellis, when they encountered each other in the entrance hall. Bonham was just running down the steps.”

  I wondered if Simon was thinking the same thing I was. Had the Lieutenant just run up the steps before Ellis came bursting out of the parlor? For of course he’d have assured himself that his client was all right before leaving her. She might have been more seriously wounded than he knew.

  But that was idle speculation. There was no reason to suspect a collusion between Ellis and the Lieutenant. It was just that I didn’t trust Ellis, or his reasons for seeing to it that Captain Travis was released and returned to Sinclair. Vera Caldwell had meant well, but now the police had a far more solid case against the Captain.

  I wanted very badly to ask Inspector Howe about that break-in at Ellis, Ellis and Whitman. And whether Mr. Spencer had been involved. If Mr. Spencer was dead, and Captain Travis was hanged, the whole matter would be tidily resolved, wouldn’t it? And anything that Mr. Spencer might have seen in the solicitor’s office would be safe forever.

  But the Inspector was in no mood to think about anything else, and I was worried about Captain Travis. Where could he hide? He hardly knew the village!

  I sat back. Behind us my father’s headlamps cut the early winter darkness. Simon reached over and briefly put a hand over mine where they were clasped in my lap.

  His was warm, while my fingers were cold. I’d forgot to put on my gloves. I reached into my pocket to find them, slowly drawing them on.

  “Is Mrs. Travis all right?” I asked. “What does Dr. Harrison h
ave to say?”

  “I’ve had men out looking for Travis. I wasn’t there when the doctor arrived. And I haven’t been back to The Hall. I was searching for you by that time. Your belongings were still in your rooms. I came back to Bury.”

  Both motorcars, Simon’s and my father’s, had been standing outside The Angel while we lingered over our dinner. Hadn’t anybody noticed? Hadn’t anyone even looked, before the Captain was released?

  It didn’t matter now.

  We were coming into the outskirts of the village, and my father pulled ahead of us before we reached the inn. The Inspector barely waited for us to stop before he was out of the motorcar and hurrying inside. Simon went after him. Both men were back before we had gathered outside the door. One look at the Inspector’s face told us the Captain wasn’t in either room.

  But behind the Inspector’s back, I saw my father raise an eyebrow, and Simon give the slightest nod. A question and an answer had passed silently between them: Simon’s weapon was still there and hadn’t been fired.

  My father made the decision. “Simon, go to The Hall, find out what you can. The Major and I will wait here, in the event Travis comes back. Or we find out where he is.”

  “Sir,” Simon responded and was back behind the wheel almost at once.

  “A waste of time,” Inspector Howe said. “The doctor is with Mrs. Travis. We need to find the Captain.”

  “Then stay here,” Simon told him shortly. But it was clear that Howe didn’t trust Simon, and he got in as well, shutting his door smartly as Simon reversed and turned toward The Hall.

  I called, “Wait!” and Simon stopped. I ran to join them.

  Silence followed us all the way to the gates and up to the door of the house. There was nothing Simon and I could say with the Inspector there, and he was busy with his own thoughts.

  There seemed to be lights on all over the house. Dr. Harrison’s carriage was still there, and when I got down and hurried to the door before Inspector Howe could reach it, I found it ajar.

  Pushing it wide enough for me to enter, I stood for a moment at the foot of the stairs, but I couldn’t hear voices anywhere. I turned and walked into the drawing room. A maid I’d seen before was trying on her own to drape a sheet over the shattered panes, and I went to help her. Startled, she nearly dropped the sheet. But I smiled and took up one end, and she finally picked up her corner again. Simon crossed the room to help secure it. As he did, I said, “I’ve come to see how Mrs. Travis is. I’m worried about her.”

  “It was terrible. We heard the commotion downstairs and we ran up to see what it was. There was the outer door standing wide, and someone moaning, and I dashed in here to see who it was. Mrs. Travis was lying back in that chair, just by the window, and there was blood all over her gown. I felt ever so faint, thinking she was dying, but then she spoke to me, and I hurried over to see her. It was her arm, bleeding like nothing I’d ever seen before, and she asked me to summon Dr. Harrison. I didn’t know where Mr. Ellis had got to, and him with a motorcar, to get to the doctor’s surgery all the quicker, but he’d gone. That’s what I truly thought, and I went to the door, and there was Mr. Ellis, pale as could be, and that Lieutenant beside him, his shirttail untucked and his feet bare.”

  She had a sense of drama, and it brought the scene vividly alive for us.

  The Inspector was standing in the doorway. “Where is your mistress now?”

  “In her room. Mr. Ellis and the Lieutenant must be with her. And the doctor as well.”

  “Where is it?” the Inspector asked, and she told him. He started for the stairs, and after the briefest hesitation, I followed, Simon on my heels.

  The Inspector tapped lightly on the door, and we heard a man’s voice say impatiently, “Come in.”

  And the three of us did.

  Mrs. Travis was lying wanly on a chaise longue by the window, the drapes already drawn to shut out the darkness and whoever had been out there. One of her sleeves had been cut away, and a bandage had been wrapped around her arm.

  The doctor was mixing something in a glass of water, a powder that swirled in a cloud and then seemed to vanish. “I won’t have you disturbing my patient,” he said sharply.

  Mrs. Travis lifted a hand. “I don’t know why he’s running free—he nearly killed me.” I came forward and took the glass from the doctor.

  “It must have been rather awful for you,” I said gently and held out the glass. I was the only woman in a room full of men, and I thought I could help. “Can you drink some of this? It will help calm you.”

  “I won’t be calm ever again—he’s ruined my peace of mind. I’ll never walk into that room again without hearing glass breaking and feeling pain in my arm.”

  I managed to coax her to take a little of the sedative.

  Inspector Howe came forward. “Did you see him? Was there anything you remember that might help us find him?”

  “Nothing, I saw nothing. There was suddenly a loud report, the glass breaking—”

  She was running that moment over and over again in her mind, upsetting herself afresh, and very close to hysteria. A woman like Mrs. Travis would never be able to forgive herself for having made a scene.

  “I understand. I was shot once,” I said quietly. “I know how horrid it is.”

  “You were?” she asked, turning to me as if really seeing me for the first time. Her eyes were wide with surprise.

  “Yes, and it was quite some time before I got over it,” I assured her. “But in the end, I did. You are so very lucky it was only your arm, and Dr. Harrison came so quickly. I required surgery.” I got a little more of the sedative into her, and I was beginning to see some of the tension fade from her face. Turning, I glanced at the men gathered around her and nodded toward the door. Mr. Ellis and the Lieutenant moved reluctantly toward it. Inspector Howe was on the point of refusing to leave, but Simon was behind him. In the end, Simon closed the door after them. Dr. Harrison had stayed.

  “Would you like me to call your maid?” I asked. “I’ll be happy to help you get into your bed, if you’d prefer that.”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she said, slurring her words just a little. “I’m more conf—comfortable here.” She obediently finished the glass, and I handed it to the doctor.

  “Then here you shall stay. Shall I ring for some tea? Would you like that? Or perhaps some warm milk?”

  “I don’t think I could swallow it,” she said, her eyes heavy. I glanced at the doctor now, and he frowned, unwilling to leave his patient. But she was bandaged, beginning to feel drowsy, and it was best if she could rest.

  “Shall I ask Dr. Harrison to stay?” I asked.

  “No. He’s missed his dinner. So have I. But I couldn’t . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  Dr. Harrison stayed a few minutes longer, and then with a nod, turned and left. I sat by Mrs. Travis until she was fully asleep, drew a quilt from the bed over her, then rose and tiptoed to the door.

  To my astonishment, Dr. Harrison was waiting just outside it. “You’re a good nurse,” he said grudgingly, and looked in the room behind me. Satisfied that I hadn’t murdered her where she lay, he shut the door quietly and walked with me toward the stair. “A nasty business,” he said. “I don’t remember the last murder here in Sinclair. Well before the war, at any rate.” At the top of the stairs, he paused and looked straight at me. “What part have you had in this business?” he asked. “I couldn’t follow what Mrs. Travis was saying when I got here. A muddle of names and murder and heirs to the estate. She blamed you as well.”

  “I came to the village to ask for help for Captain Travis. He was in a clinic in Wiltshire, and I felt the diagnosis was wrong. As it happens, the Army has just examined him and verified that it was a mistake. Still, Major Davison wants him to have more weeks of attention to the wound in his back. I must return to France shortly. I’m still posted there.” Well, it wasn’t the whole truth, but it covered what mattered. “For what it’s worth, I don’t believe Captain Trav
is killed Mr. Spencer or shot at Mrs. Travis tonight. But that’s for the police to determine, isn’t it? At the moment, she’s more comfortable, and it’s best for me to go back to The George.”

  “Ah.” He nodded, as if that explained everything. And we went down the stairs together. “Base Hospital?”

  “I was more often assigned to a forward aid unit,” I said.

  “Were you indeed? Were you telling the truth, that you were shot?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  We turned in unison to the drawing room as the sound of men’s voices carried to us. Mr. Ellis was still there, and Lieutenant Bonham, talking to Simon. They broke off as we came into the room, and stood up.

  “She’s asleep,” Dr. Harrison told them. “I’ve given her something to settle her nerves and help with any pain. I’ll return in the morning. Meanwhile, if she needs anything in the night, you know where to find me.”

  They wished him good night, and he turned on his heel and left.

  “Where is the Inspector?” I asked, noticing that he wasn’t there.

  “He went out to the tenant cottages,” Mr. Ellis said. “I doubt he’ll find much in the dark, but he’s a good man. Thorough.”

  “But what happened here? Did you see nothing when you went out to investigate?”

  “We had no way of guessing which direction he’d taken. To the road, most likely, but he could have cut cross-country,” Lieutenant Bonham said.

  “He doesn’t know the countryside well enough for that,” I pointed out. “If he came by way of the road, then it’s likely he left the same way.”

  They were about to argue with me—I was a woman, after all, with no experience in such matters. They were being polite but begging to differ. Simon caught my eye and shook his head slightly.

  “I think it’s best if we go back to The George,” I said again. “Good night.” Simon followed me, and we’d just reached the door when I heard someone shouting outside.

  “They’ve caught him!” Mr. Ellis exclaimed and started after us. My heart in my throat, I got to the outer door first, throwing it open, and all I could see were the motorcar and the doctor’s carriage drawn up by the steps.