A Bitter Truth

by Charles Todd

  This time he stopped by the drinks table, lifted the brandy decanter, and poured a goodly amount into a glass. But then he set it aside untasted.

  “As soon as I’m back in France, I’m going to find her. See if I don’t, by God. I must have been out of my mind to think Roger—” He swore under his breath, picked up the glass, and downed it in one long swallow. “She even smiles the way Juliana did. It was such a shock I stood there unable to say a word. And then they were gone, the nuns hurrying the children away. I caught up with them then, asked what the little girl’s name was. I think they must have believed I had some ulterior motive, that I meant her a harm. The older nun glared at me and told me it was none of my affair. Damn it, I don’t see how he could walk away from his own flesh and blood. But he has.”

  “But what if Captain Ellis is telling the truth? You can’t be certain the child is his, just because she reminds you of Juliana. Can you? A fleeting resemblance that touched a chord of memory when you were already tired, under great stress—”

  “No, I’m not mad, and I’m not mistaken. Ellis got very drunk one night, talking wildly about someone dying. He’d got a letter, he said, and he’d burned it because he didn’t want to know what was in it. Now he was frantic to read it, and it was gone. I asked him how he knew someone was dying if he hadn’t read the letter, and he told me it was enclosed in another letter. The next morning he was gone. I don’t know how he wangled leave, or even if he did. Three days later he was back, haggard, unshaven, looking as if he hadn’t slept. He asked if I had any money, and I gave him what I had. He left again, and by the time he returned that evening, I’d already lied twice to cover for him. I asked if everything was all right, and he nearly took my head off. A day or so later he told me that if anything happened to him that I was to see that money went regularly to a small convent south of Ypres. He said he was paying for perpetual prayers for someone’s soul.”

  He broke off, and for a moment I thought he was going to the decanter again, but he only walked to the door, and as I’d done, opened it quickly and peered out. Satisfied, he closed it again and went on, as if he couldn’t stop himself.

  “I was curious, and months later when I found myself within a few miles of the convent, I went there. It was in ruins, and the nuns had moved to a house farther south. Some three months after that, when I was sent to Calais to expedite supplies coming through, I managed to trace the nuns. That’s when I discovered that they actually had an orphanage. I hung about for an hour or more, and the nuns appeared with a crocodile of children. All ages, some of them wounded, others in a state of shock, moving like their own shadows, and a handful of very little ones holding hands. The middle one was a girl in a dress too large for her. Hardly more than a year old, at a guess, and just barely walking well. I noticed her because she kept tripping over her hems, which were dragging on the ground. One of the nuns stopped and hitched the dress up with a ribbon or something. And the child looked up and smiled at me over the nun’s shoulder. I stood there, my mouth literally hanging open. The nuns marched the children several times around the house they were using as their convent, and then led them back inside. I tell you, the likeness was uncanny. Not a faulty memory or wishful thinking. It was real. I went straight to the door before they could shut it to ask about the child, but my French wasn’t all that good, and I think the nuns believed I wanted to take a child away for my own purposes, and they sent me smartly about my business.”

  “Did you ask Roger Ellis about her? Did you go back?”

  “I said nothing to him then. Well, a man generally doesn’t ask another man if he’s got a bastard child. I stood up with him at his wedding to Lydia, for God’s sake. But I kept an ear open for news of the convent, all the same, and went back a second time. And I saw her again. I hadn’t been mistaken, the likeness was even more pronounced. The third time, I was determined to speak to the nuns, to ask who she was. I’d taken care to work on my French, and I thought I could persuade them that I knew the child’s father. Only this time, the house was empty. I went around the village, frantically asking what had become of them. The old priest told me they’d moved south of Angers. His housekeeper was sure that some of the nuns and a number of the children had been taken in by a convent near Caen. The next time I saw Roger, I asked him what he knew about the house. And he said he’d never heard of them. I reminded him of the perpetual prayers. He told me then that he’d lied to me about them, that it was a gambling debt he was anxious to pay. But that was a lie as well. I’ve never known Roger Ellis to gamble. I went on searching, but France was in chaos, and one small group of orphans was impossible to track down. And then the bottom fell out of my world. Malcolm was killed, I was wounded and sent back to England, unable to learn anything at all. It was enough to turn anyone’s mind.”

  Lieutenant Hughes lifted the decanter again, and I said quietly, “Perhaps you’ve had enough for one night.”

  He nodded, putting it back where he’d found it. Raising his head to meet my gaze, he said, “I told Ellis outright that I knew why he’d been sending money to the nuns. He told me then that the mother had died after childbirth, and the child’s father had asked him to see that the child was cared for. I called him a liar to his face, and he told me I could believe what I damned well pleased. But I was haunted by what I’d seen, and I wouldn’t let it go. I kept asking, and he refused to answer me, except to say I’d been delirious. And all this while, even from England, I’ve done everything I could to find the nuns. But they might as well have vanished.”

  The little ormolu clock on the mantelpiece chimed two, the silvery notes loud in the quiet room.

  “Good God, I’ve kept you up all night,” he said contritely.

  “Can you rest now?” I asked.

  “Yes. For the first time I know what to do. Thank you for listening. You won’t—you won’t share what I’ve said with Lydia, will you? Or anyone else? It would be unkind. And God knows, I’ve done enough damage already.” He shrugged, annoyance mingled with embarrassment. “I must have drunk more than I knew, to confess like this.”

  “I see no reason to hurt them. If Roger wishes them to hear the truth, it’s best coming from him, don’t you think?”

  “Thank you. Good night, then, Sister.”

  After he had gone, I made myself as comfortable as I could, regretting having to sleep in my pale green dress, but there was nothing I could do about it. With a sigh, I pulled a large silk cushion from one of the other chairs and wrapped my arms around it to keep me warm. And after some little time, I was finally able to sleep, although it was a fitful rest at best.

  I awoke the next morning to a hubbub somewhere in the house. Smoothing my hair with my hands, I put the silk cushion and the lap rug back where I’d found them, then went to the door. The shouting seemed to be coming from the hall. I hurried in that direction, not knowing what I would find. But the urgency told me that something was wrong.

  Lydia stood in the middle of the room in her traveling dress, the same coat she’d worn when first I’d encountered her in London. Her face was set, and at her feet was a large valise. A smaller one was clutched tightly in her hand.

  It was Roger Ellis who was doing the shouting, telling her that he wouldn’t allow her to go away again. His mother was trying to pour oil on troubled waters, and Gran, standing to one side, was saying, “Lower your voices! What will Margaret and Eleanor think?” as if they were all that mattered. But everyone was ignoring her, their eyes on Lydia’s face.

  She turned as I came into the hall. “There you are!” she exclaimed. “Where on earth have you been? I’d looked everywhere for you. You haven’t changed from last evening. Hurry and pack, Bess. I’ve already sent Daisy into Hartfield for the station carriage.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, adding, “it will take a few minutes to collect everything,” in the hope that this would give her a little time to change her mind. But I had a feeling she wouldn’t. I glanced at her husband, afraid he might strike Lydia a
gain, if he was angry enough with her. The first blow was always the hardest. And that had been struck already.

  “Ask Molly to help you, then. Bess, I beg of you. I can’t stay here, don’t you see?” Her eyes as well as her voice pleaded with me.

  There was nothing else I could do. Casting a worried glance at Mrs. Ellis, hoping she could keep her son from losing his temper completely, I hurried away. Just outside the door to my room, I encountered Molly.

  “I was just about to send for you.”

  But she said, “Miss? Have you seen Lieutenant Hughes? He hasn’t been down for his breakfast, and he’s not in his room.”

  “He’s probably gone for a walk. Mrs. Roger has asked me to hurry and pack. Will you help me?”

  “I don’t think he even slept in his bed. It’s been turned down.”

  “Turned down?” But Dr. Tilton and I had put him to bed, and I’d assumed he’d gone back there after leaving the sitting room. “Show me.”

  She opened the door to the Lieutenant’s room, and I could see that she was right. The bed had been tidily made, and then turned back, as if ready for the night. I looked in the wardrobe. It was empty. When had he dressed and taken his luggage down?

  “Is his motorcar still in the yard?”

  “Yes, Miss, I remember seeing it there. The wing’s all dented.”

  “Well, then, I shouldn’t worry.”

  “It’s just that I need to be clearing away the dining room, before Mrs. Long begins preparations for the luncheon. And you’ve had no breakfast neither, Miss.”

  “I’ve had a little headache,” I said, prevaricating. “Perhaps I’ll have a little tea later.”

  She grinned. “I seen that you was sleeping in the sitting room when I come to make up the fires.”

  “Mrs. Roger was in my bed,” I replied. We went back to my room, and I changed quickly into my traveling dress, and then between us we repacked my valises and set them by the door. When that was done, I said, “I’ve just looked at the time. It’s after ten. Lieutenant Hughes may be back by now.”

  “Yes, Miss, I’ll go and have a look. Thank you, Miss.”

  I went down to the hall, where Mrs. Ellis was sitting with Lydia. It was obvious that an uncomfortable silence had fallen between them while Lydia waited for me.

  Mrs. Ellis said, “My dear, have you seen George this morning? I’ve been trying to persuade Lydia to talk to him before she leaves. Surely he can explain himself.”

  “Molly was just looking for him. He must have gone for a walk.”

  “Oh, dear, I expect he’s gone to St. Mary’s. Lydia, please, would you at least go with me to the church and hear what he has to say? There’s more than enough time before the train leaves. For my sake.”

  “He’ll only lie. Just as he did last night,” she said, and I thought she was probably right.

  Still, I said, “Lydia, I think Mrs. Ellis has a point. This is a major decision, after all. It can do no harm to hear what Lieutenant Hughes has to say. In the cold light of morning, when he’s completely sober.”

  I could see that she wanted no part of anything that could weaken her resolve. But she said finally, “If we hurry. If it doesn’t hold us up.”

  The first time she’d fled to London had been ill-considered. This time, she needed to be sure.

  Mrs. Ellis said, “You won’t regret this, Lydia. And if it takes longer than it should, I’ll drive you to the railway station myself.”

  “I’d rather go in the carriage,” Lydia said. “Thank you, but it’s better if I do. And that way, Roger can’t blame anyone else for my leaving.”

  We brought down my valises, and just then I heard the carriage wheels on the drive.

  Mrs. Ellis fetched her coat, and by that time we had taken our luggage out to the carriage and stowed it.

  Daisy had just finished helping us, and Mrs. Ellis said to her as she turned toward the house, “Did you by any chance see Lieutenant Hughes in Hartfield?”

  “Lieutenant Hughes? No, Ma’am. Should I have been looking for him?”

  “No, not at all.” She turned to us. “Then it’s certain that he’s at St. Mary’s,” she said, joining us in the carriage. “Thank you, Daisy.”

  Lydia said to the elderly driver, “We’d like to go to Wych Gate Church first.”

  The carriage turned and set out for the track through the forest.

  Mrs. Ellis said anxiously, “He could have walked over to his grandfather’s house. I hadn’t thought about that.”

  “If he isn’t at the church, I’ll speak to him in London,” Lydia replied, fighting down her impatience.

  I sat there, listening with only half an ear. I had a feeling that something was wrong. The way the bed had been made. The fact that the man’s belongings were already taken down, the room looking as if he’d never been there. I was remembering too what Roger Ellis had said, that he was surprised, given George’s moodiness, that he hadn’t taken his own life. I’d thought, listening to him in the night, that he had every reason to live—to find the child he’d seen. But in the cold light of day, given the uproar over his remarks in the drawing room, George Hughes might well have decided that the search in France was hopeless. And in a flush of self-pity, he could very well have walked away from Vixen Hill and killed himself.

  Pray God, not on the memorial to Juliana!

  It was cold that morning, although the sun was out, colder than it had been before the storm, as often happened. In the open carriage, we felt it. We rode on in silence, listening to the jingle of the harness and the clip-clop pace of the horses over the hard ground. Finally I could see the church tower above the trees that enclosed it.

  Mrs. Ellis got down as soon as the carriage had stopped. “I’ll find him and bring him to you.” I had expected Lydia to get down with her instead. I wouldn’t have let my own mother walk into that churchyard alone. But Lydia was wrapped up in her own misery and had no room for anyone else’s.

  “You will hurry, won’t you?” was all she said.

  I quickly stepped down from the seat beside Lydia and said, “I’ll go with you, shall I? In the event he’s taken ill—”

  Mrs. Ellis turned to wait for me, and together we approached the side gate. Mrs. Ellis was saying, keeping her voice low, “She’s being so foolish, Bess. See if you can talk any sense into her before this goes too far.”

  “I’ll try,” I replied, my gaze on the wrought iron bars of the gate, almost feeling as if I ought to hold my breath. “But it will take some time before she can forgive the Captain.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” she answered. We were in sight now of her daughter’s grave, and relief washed over me.

  George wasn’t lying there, his service revolver in his dead hand. I’d been able to picture it so clearly that for a moment I lost track of what my companion was saying.

  “Roger told me himself this has become something of an obsession of George’s. The doctors haven’t diagnosed it, but Roger thinks it must have something to do with shell shock.” She swung the gate open, and we walked into the churchyard. I could see frost in the shadows where the sun hadn’t reached. “It apparently started with Malcolm’s death. George has convinced himself that this refugee child exists. And that’s something to cling to while everyone around him seems to be dying. To tell you the truth, I don’t think George always remembers that Juliana wasn’t his little sister too. He wants to find and save her. This imaginary child. For all we know, he may well have seen a child who reminded him of Juliana. That may be how it began.”

  It was a very persuasive argument. But Roger Ellis had lied to his mother. I knew that shell shock didn’t work like that. What’s more, George Hughes had told me chapter and verse exactly what he’d discovered about this child. And it hadn’t sounded like an obsession to me. Yes, he might have seen what he wanted to see. We all do that. But if she was Roger Ellis’s child, the resemblance could well have been more than passing.

  We stood for a moment at Juliana’s
grave. Just beyond it was Alan’s stone, achingly new.

  “I thought he’d be here,” Mrs. Ellis said, looking around her as if she’d misplaced the Lieutenant. “He comes here nearly as often as I do. Well. Perhaps we ought to look in the church. It shouldn’t take long. There’s still more than enough time.”

  As she led the way to the massive west door, I heard Lydia’s voice, pitched to carry. “Is he there? Mama? We need to hurry.”

  The door was slightly ajar. Mrs. Ellis took a deep breath as she put her hands on the thick wooden panels. I helped to push the door wider, and we crossed the threshold side by side.

  The interior felt—quite literally—as cold as the grave, and it was quite gloomy as well, despite the early attempts of the sun to break through. The stained glass on either side of the aisle and above the altar had no life, although it must have been quite glorious on a sunny day.

  I couldn’t imagine sitting here for any length of time, cold as it was. And at first glance the church appeared to be empty. It felt empty as well.

  “George?” Mrs. Ellis called, her voice echoing around the walls, so that it sounded rather like “Geo-orge-orge.”

  Six slender pillars divided the nave, creating two narrow aisles on either side, memorials lining the walls between the windows. Before the altar was a delicate stone rood screen, setting off the choir. The pulpit was also stone, with worn steps leading up one side.