A Bitter Truth

by Charles Todd

  My mind was on Dover. “The bear?” I repeated, then remembered.

  A Canadian officer of the Fort Garry Horse, one Lieutenant Colebourn, had smuggled a small female black bear into England. Her name was Winnipeg, after the town where he lived. When he and his unit sailed for France, he left her in the care of the London zoo. She was enormously popular. Diana, Mary, and I had gone to see her one afternoon, and I told the Major this.

  He grinned as we walked together in the glare of the headlamps, his teeth very white in the shadow of his military mustache. “I took my future wife there the first time we went out to dine. Two years ago. She’s expecting our child now, and she’s threatened to name it Winnipeg, if it’s a son.”

  “Be very glad, sir, that you didn’t take her to see one of those Australian kingfishes, a kookabura.”

  We laughed together, and then, blowing on our fingers, we walked back to the motorcar. I was glad of the Major’s company on this dark and twisting road.

  Outside Chatham we stopped again, and later drove through the silent streets of Canterbury. It was nearly dawn when we drove down from the cliffs and into the seaside town of Dover.

  It had grown with the influx of people coming from and going to France, and even at this early hour there were men lining up for roll call before being marched on board. Their faces pinched with the cold and anxiety for what lay ahead, they looked dreadfully young to me. The days when men lined up in their dozens to be the first to enlist had long since passed. Now the reality of the trenches had scoured away that bravado, and in its place were these recruits, afraid of shaming themselves in front of their mates but probably wishing themselves anywhere but here.

  The Major asked me to drop him near a cluster of officers standing some distance away from the Sergeants barking orders.

  “If you will, take the motorcar to HQ. Someone there will see to it. Do you have time?”

  “Yes, sir.” I took the wheel and went first to the police station. But they knew nothing about an Australian Sergeant, and so I went to find the officer in charge of the port.

  He was sitting in a cramped office that overlooked the sea. It was filled with paperwork, with ships’ manifests, lists of supplies destined for France and no doubt roll after roll of names, and all the other paraphernalia of getting men and materiel across the sea to France.

  He looked up as I was admitted, rising tiredly from his chair. “Sister,” he said.

  “Good morning, sir. Sister Crawford, sir. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I understand there’s an Australian Sergeant who is in Dover, possibly without his proper papers.” I’d had the long dark ride across Kent to think about what I should say.

  I’d expected a blank stare. But he said, “Ah, yes. I think he’s being held in one of the huts under guard. Number seventeen. He says he has a head wound and can’t remember much after the forward dressing station. It’s likely he came from the Base Hospital in Rouen, judging from his blue uniform. He can’t remember how he got aboard a ship. He claims you’ll be looking for him.”

  “Yes, sir, he’s been quite troublesome, wandering off,” I said, feeling my way. “Er, how does he look?”

  “His hair is singed, he has no eyebrows, and his hands are badly burned. I had someone take a look at him.”

  He hadn’t been burned when last I saw him. “He’s not accountable,” I said.

  “I should think not. When he’s questioned, he breaks out in crazed laughter. It gave me quite a start the first time I heard it. He was brought here because he was stopped on the street and couldn’t account for himself.”

  More bewildered than anything else, I said, “I think I ought to have a look at him. We need to return him to France as soon as possible. He’ll have been reported missing by now.”

  “You’ll be careful? I’ll send one of my men with you.”

  “I’ll be all right,” I told him, not wishing to have an audience when I found Sergeant Larimore. Gesturing to the cluttered desk in front of him, I said, “You have enough on your hands this morning. I saw the recruits preparing to report.”

  “Yes, poor devils. Thank you, Sister Crawford. Any relation to Colonel Crawford and his family?”

  “He’s my father.”

  “Is he, by God!” His attitude warmed considerably. “Tell me what you need, Sister, and I’ll see that you get it.”

  I thanked him and went out. The port was cluttered and crowded. I managed to find the line of huts. They turned out to be temporary housing for any number of offices associated with the smooth running of the port. Number seventeen, set to one side of the rest, had a soldier on guard by the door.

  With a sinking heart, I walked up to the soldier, a grizzled veteran with a decided limp, and told him I’d been asked to take a look at his charge.

  “I don’t think it’s safe, Sister,” he warned me. “He’s right barmy, is that one.”

  “I’ve handled worse cases. They seem to respond to the uniform,” I said pleasantly.

  With some reluctance, he stood aside. “I’ll stay within call,” he promised.

  I went to the door. It was, to my surprise, unlocked. I walked in as the first late rays of winter sun rose over the horizon and sent a shaft of light across the gray Channel to wash the drab, salt-stained huts a pale gold.

  At first I couldn’t see anyone in the dark interior. And then as my eyes grew accustomed to the shadows, I saw that there were two cots in the room, and a bucket on the floor between them. Nothing else.

  “Sergeant? Sergeant Larimore?” I said, and immediately the prone figure on one of the cots shot up with an oath.

  “Sister,” he answered in a low, hoarse voice. “Great God, woman, I’d given you up.” He stood, and the light of the rising sun caught him full in the face.

  I gasped. He was burned, just as the Captain had said, his face raw, his eyebrows all but gone, his hair shorter in front than in the back. His blue hospital uniform was torn, stained with God knew what, and scorched.

  “What happened to you?” I asked, appalled.

  “We haven’t time to talk. You must get me out of here, it’s—just trust me, and I’ll tell you everything,” he pleaded in a hoarse whisper.

  “But you’re in Dover—how did you get here? What have you done?”

  “Never mind that. I’ve told them I had a head wound, I’m out of my mind. Just play along, Sister, and help me. For God’s sake.”

  I had two choices: to go along with whatever it was he wanted to do or to turn him over to the authorities as a deserter. And if I did that, he would be shot.

  I said, exasperation clear in my voice as I spoke loud enough to reach the sentry outside, “Sergeant. I told you I must go to England. Not you. Didn’t you understand? I can’t help you here, you should have stayed with Sister Barlow. She’s a good nurse. And none of this would have happened.”

  A grin split his thin, tired face. But his voice was humble as he answered, “Sister, please help me. My head hurts something terrible, I can’t think straight. You told me you’d see me right. That’s why I came looking for you.”

  “It’s a wonder you haven’t fallen ill of pneumonia. Oh, very well, Sergeant. Come along and I’ll do what I can. But give me any trouble and I’ll turn you in to the nearest soldier.”

  I pushed at the door, and the guard took two quick steps out of its way as it swung open. I could tell he’d been listening. But he asked, “Everything all right, Sister?”

  “Yes, he’s not clear in his mind. I’ll find a doctor and see about returning him to France.”

  “Shall I go with you? He don’t appear dangerous to me, but you never know.” He looked Sergeant Larimore up and down. The Sergeant managed a lunatic grin. “He’s a big ’un, and it’s the quiet ones that go off their heads when you least expect it.”

  “He’s too ill to hurt a fly,” I scoffed. “You may report that I take full responsibility.” Then turning to Sergeant Larimore at my heels, I said, “See what you’ve got me into. And don�
�t make that ridiculous noise again. This way.”

  “Yes, Sister,” he replied meekly.

  In single file we walked back down the row of huts, and then out through the port gates, no one stopping us, although I saw several faces turned our way, curiosity writ large. I couldn’t help but think that it would take all the Colonel Sahib’s authority to save me if this went wrong.

  But the Sergeant loped behind me, head hung in contrition, looking like a lost soul in need of resurrection.

  When we’d cleared the gates and were some one hundred paces farther along, he caught me up, saying in a very different tone of voice, “You must come with me. Quickly.”

  “Where?”

  “Not here.” We walked on into the town, avoiding the foot traffic and all the lorries that had finished unloading their cargo on the ships, their drivers looking now for breakfast before making the long drive back to London. We passed half a dozen officers who nodded to me and then looked askance at the man trailing me.

  “Sergeant. We ought to get off the streets. I have a motorcar—”

  “That hotel on the far corner. Do you see it?”

  I did. A seedy hotel favored by ships’ crews and with something of an unsavory reputation.

  “That’s where we’re heading.”

  We covered the distance without mishap, and he led me in the door.

  The woman behind the desk, her eyes sharp and knowing, said, “Hold on, I’ll have none of that here.”

  I said in my best imitation of Matron, “We’ve come to fetch the Sergeant’s things. He’s ill, he ought to be in hospital.”

  She turned her gaze to his face. “Anything catching?”

  “I don’t know. The sooner he’s examined, the better. Now will you let us pass?”

  She nodded, adding, “Just get him out of my hotel quick as may be.”

  We climbed stairs tracked with muddy footprints.

  “It was the best I could do,” he said softly. “They wouldn’t let me through the door of a decent place. Not like this.”

  “I understand.”

  We walked down a passage with bare floorboards and ill-painted doors to either side. Sergeant Larimore stopped at one of them, dug in his pocket for the key, and unlocked the door. “I’ll go first,” he said, and I let him, not knowing what lay ahead.

  But it was only an empty room, the bedclothes a-tumble.

  “There was a fire,” he said, turning to look at me. “Half the houses went up in flames. After you left, I’d been keeping an eye on Rue St. Catherine whenever I could slip out of hospital, and I was one of the first on the scene. I rescued as many people as I could before the roofs started to come down. Dry as tinder, those old houses, in spite of the rain we’ve had.”

  I was watching his face, dawning horror drying up my throat.

  “The nuns—did you see the nuns?” I couldn’t say anything else.

  “They got out safely. I saw the elderly one. Her robes were singed about as bad as my uniform, but she was looking after her charges.”

  “They made it out safely?” I asked. “All of them?”

  “All of them. Only I got away with one of them.” He walked to the tumble of bedclothes, and I realized with something like shock that a small child was asleep in the cocoon of sheets.

  I went to the bedside myself, gently pulled a corner of a coverlet away, and a strand of fair hair, bright as sunlight in the dingy room, caught in my fingers.

  “Sergeant—you didn’t—you kidnapped her! The nuns will think she burned in the fire. They—they’ll be distraught!”

  “It was the only chance to get her out of there,” he said, his voice still hoarse. “The house is rubble. What was I to do? Leave her to the French authorities to decide her future? Not likely! You would never find her again.”

  It was so like Sergeant Larimore to have acted on the spur of the moment, when the opportunity came his way, knowing I was gravely concerned about this child’s fate. I couldn’t fault him—and yet I was horrified by the decision he’d made. What on earth was I to do about this?

  He’d listened to every word I’d said about her, that was clear enough, and he remembered everything I’d told him about myself, or he’d never have known how to contact my mother. I couldn’t help but be amazed as well as shocked. He was the most extraordinary man.

  He stood there while I took it all in, giving me time to come to terms with all that he’d just related to me.

  I sighed. “What are we to do now?”

  “I see it this way, Sister. You get me aboard a ship soon as may be, telling them I was out of my mind from a fire in an empty house where I’d wandered, and that I must be returned to the Base Hospital. And you take the little girl home. We both come out of this without any trouble. You still have leave, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but—” I pictured Inspector Rother’s furious face. “Yes,” I said firmly.

  He was right about his own situation. I had to get him safely back to France, I couldn’t let him be disciplined or put in any further jeopardy on my account.

  “How did you smuggle her out of Rouen? She doesn’t know you.”

  “I was clever. I took her to an American nurse, told her the child was frightened out of her wits—and that was true, as God is my witness!—and could she sedate her until I could find her family. Everyone knew about the fire. You could see the flames and then the smoke. It was dark, everything at sixes and sevens. I think she’s a little sweet on me, that nurse, and she gave the child something to calm her. She’s been sleeping like this ever since. Exhaustion as well as the drug. I went out to get some milk for her last night, and that’s when I was picked up. I was frantic something would happen to her while I was in custody.” He gestured to the door. “I had a key, for what it’s worth. But I had to take the chance, Sister. There wasn’t much choice.”

  “But how did you get her aboard ship?”

  “That was the easiest part. It was late, very dark, and there were a great many wounded being loaded. I slipped aboard when no one was looking and found a rope locker down below. When we landed I picked up a mop and a pail, and walked off with it in one hand and the little one wrapped up in an Army blanket and slung over my shoulder. We’d only just arrived when I telephoned your mother, and I found this hotel straightaway. I couldn’t help but think I might have been a German spy. There’s a frightening thought for you.”

  “Yes, and you could well have been mistaken for one. And shot. It was a terrible risk. And what would they have said, if they’d found you with Sophie?”

  “I’d have told them she was mine. That I’d taken her from her dead French mother and was carrying her to my English fiancée.” He grinned. “That’s you. Besides, I’m fair enough to make that believable.”

  And he was.

  “Sister Marie Joseph will be mourning her. They will all mourn her. I must take her back.”

  “No such thing, Sister. She belongs here. And she’s young enough to settle in now. Wait until the war is over and the lawyers are finished, and it will be twice as hard for her. She’ll be right as rain, wait and see.”

  But Roger Ellis was in England just now, and that complicated matters no end. I’d let him think I hadn’t found her. What would he say when I walked into Vixen Hill with her?

  The Sergeant said gently, almost as if he realized the quandary I was in, “You can always take her back, if it doesn’t work out.”

  And he was right, I could. But with what explanation?

  “They don’t have to know she left France. Someone could have rescued her and kept her. She’s that pretty.”

  And that was true too.

  “All right.”

  He pulled back the bedclothes, lifted Sophie like a bundle of old clothes, although his hands were gentle and he held her with care.

  “Do you have children of your own?” I asked, watching him.

  “God, no, Sister. I haven’t found the right wife yet.”

  We went out the door, down t
he passage, and out into the street. I made a point of leaving the key on the desk at Reception.

  Outside, he said, “You’d better hurry. She’s waking up.”

  “Let me have her.”

  “Not yet. She’s heavier than you’d think.”

  But he gave her to me when we reached the port again, and I walked along the water until I found a ship bound for Rouen. There was a nursing sister mopping up blood from the deck as we came aboard, and I said, “Sister, I’ve got a patient here. He’s not right in his mind. Somehow he got sent to England with the latest casualties because of his burns, but he belongs at the Base Hospital in Rouen. Can you see him safely back there? My leave is just starting, I’d hate to lose it.”

  She straightened up, massaging her back. I knew how it must hurt after a night voyage from France.

  “Base Hospital, you said? Rouen? Is he an American?”

  “No, he was there being treated. He was collected with the other casualties by mistake. He’s safe enough, he just has no idea where he is or how he got here. He’ll sit quietly until you tell him to disembark.”

  It took some persuasion. I didn’t think she wanted to be encumbered by a patient on the return crossing, when she could spend the time catching up on her sleep. But Sergeant Larimore was a tall, attractive man, and that was in his favor. I could read that in her face too.

  I said, “He’s no trouble. Just confused and uncertain. Will you see him safely back?”

  “Just starting your leave, you said? Where did you find him?”

  “Walking the streets of Dover. Fortunately I recognized him. A pathetic case, really, I don’t know if he’ll ever be entirely right. But he’s gentle. I’ve had no trouble with him.”

  Sophie stirred in her bundle of wraps.

  “Who’s that?” the sister said, peering into the little face that was emerging.

  “My goddaughter. I really must go. Her mother will be frantic by now. I was just taking Sophie for a walk when I ran into the Sergeant here.”