A Question of Honor (16 page)

“I haven’t decided what to do about you. I’ve spoken to several men in your company who are also patients here, and they tell me you’re a good soldier. Smart. Steady. Dependable. My father believed you had the same qualities.”

He looked away, not answering.

“You’re accused of killing so many people. Including your own parents—”

He rose up so quickly on one elbow that I flinched before I could stop myself.

“What are you trying to do?” he demanded in a harsh whisper, his eyes blazing, galvanized by his anger. If he’d lashed out, he would have struck me. “Tell me that I broke my parents’ hearts, because they believed I was a killer? I won’t listen to this. Go away or I shall summon Matron.”

Standing my ground, I said, “Your parents were murdered the night before you left Agra for the cantonment. They were found later that morning. Don’t you remember?”

It could explain why he had seemed so normal when he returned from his leave. He had shut out what he’d done, walled it away somehow so that he could face the world.

“They were alive when I said good night to them. I was leaving at four in the morning, I’d told them they needn’t get up to see me off.”

“But they weren’t,” I said as gently as I could. “They’d been shot, a pillow over their faces to deaden the sound. That’s how the servants found them. That’s why the police came to the regiment to find you. Word hadn’t come from England then. It caught up with the MFP when they were delayed in Lahore.”

He stared blankly at me. I remembered what Simon had told me—that the Subedar’s brother had been angry with the Wades over his dismissal. But that didn’t make him a murderer, did it? It made just as much sense that Lieutenant Wade had killed his parents before they could learn their
son
was a murderer.

“I thought—” He stopped just short of convicting himself out of his own mouth.
I thought the MFP had come after me because of England. . . .

But that wasn’t what he was about to say. Slumping down onto the cot once more, he stared at the ceiling, such as it was. “I thought it would be best for them.”

“To kill them?” I persisted, trying to keep the shock out of my voice at the admission.

“What good would it do if I swore I hadn’t killed anyone,” he replied wearily, “except in the war? You’re Colonel Crawford’s daughter. You won’t believe me.”

Stung, I retorted, “The Colonel has always been a fair man. You know that as well as I do. You could have stayed and faced the charges. If you were innocent, he’d have fought for you.”

“Perhaps he would have done. But the evidence was against me from the start. It still is.”

“Have you tried to contact your parents, to let them know you were still alive?”

“How could I, without giving myself away? Or putting them in an unconscionable position.” He lay there, his face turned away again. “I didn’t know they were dead,” he whispered. “All these years, and I didn’t know.”

Did I believe him? Or was he cleverly using everything I’d said to him, twisting to it to suit his own ends.

I could hear Matron coming toward us on her nightly rounds.

“If you
are
innocent, tell me one thing that will let me believe it could be true.”

He smiled grimly. “Ask the Caswells. Failing that—”

And Matron was there behind us. Had he timed his remarks so that she would appear to cut him off before he could answer my challenge?

“There you are, Sister Crawford,” Matron said after nodding to Lieutenant Wade. “I’ve been looking for you. Someone told me you’d gone off duty and were in your quarters.”

It wasn’t an accusation, although I felt that it was.

“I’m sorry, Matron. I thought I ought to look in on Corporal Caswell. But it appears that his—er—wandering away hasn’t caused a relapse. He’s very fortunate.”

“Yes. Stubborn men often are, I’ve noticed,” she said with a smile for the patient. “Good night, Corporal. I’ll walk out with you, Sister.”

We made our way out of the ward as the night medicines trolley was being brought around. When we were outside, Matron said, “Would you mind stepping into my office for a moment?”

“Yes, of course, Matron.” I followed her to her cramped office and took the chair she offered. I had the sinking feeling I was about to be reminded that I should not take such a personal interest in a patient not my own.

“We’ve been really pleased with your work here, Sister Crawford.”

She was searching on her cluttered desk for a sheet of paper, surely the complaint that had been filed against me. Ironic, I thought, that I should be suspected of an unprofessional relationship with Lieutenant Wade of all the men in France. Finding what she was after, she looked up at me again. “You’re a very good nurse. And I must say I am very reluctant to lose you. There is a convoy leaving for England, and the Sister in charge has just fallen ill of this influenza. Because we are closer to Dover, I have been asked to spare someone who has extensive experience with wounds.”

Stunned, I sat there, not knowing what to say. All I could think about was what I must do about Lieutenant Wade before I left. I could ask the MFP to come at once and arrest him. I should do just that. Promise or no promise. I opened my mouth to begin explaining my problem. And then I remembered the Gesslers. And the fire that killed them. If Lieutenant Wade hadn’t killed them—who had? What did those deaths have to do with the Caswells?

We knew what name “Corporal Caswell” was using now. If he didn’t go back to his company when he was discharged from the hospital, he would be hunted down and shot for desertion. He
had
to go back to his company. And if he did, my father and Simon could find him.

I could feel the long day dulling my ability to come to a decision. Before I could make up my mind, Matron nodded. “Yes, it’s a shock, I’m sure. But we’ll request your return to us, and I hope the request will be honored.” She put the sheet aside. “My dear, there’s nothing I can do. You must be ready to leave at five in the morning tomorrow. You’d better get some sleep. I’ll see that someone wakes you in time. Are your ward reports in order?”

“Yes, Matron. But there’s something else—”

“I’m sorry, Sister. There’s nothing I can do. Sadly.” Rising, she came around her desk. “Go to London. You’re needed on that convoy.”

I rose and accompanied her to the door. “There’s Corporal Caswell.”

“He’s recovering, and I think he’s aware that what he did was very foolish. You needn’t worry. I believe you said before that he was in your father’s former regiment?”

Avoiding answering, I said, “It’s just that—he isn’t what he appears to be.”

Matron nodded. “I’ve suspected as much myself. He must be from a good family, well educated. Why he’s not an officer is his business. I expect there’s something in his background. The ranks needed men, and the Army was not particular about how it got them. I don’t feel it’s my place to inquire. If he’s a good soldier, we can ask nothing more of him. Now go to bed.”

“But, Matron,” I protested.

She put a hand on my arm. “Are you—is there something between you and Corporal Caswell?”

“No!” I said at once, dismayed that she would think such a thing—but then I had brought it on myself with my personal comments about a patient. “I—it’s just that I have—it’s a matter of responsibility to—”

“Then that does you credit. I shouldn’t have doubted you. Go on. I must complete my rounds.”

I thanked her and walked away, my thoughts in turmoil. If I went to see Corporal Caswell now, it would appear on my record. I had no business in that ward. If I said nothing, he would be discharged and returned to duty. Whether he actually arrived there was another matter.

I wished I could speak to Simon. But I knew what he would tell me.

Either call the MFP or walk away.

I went to bed. But I didn’t sleep. When a Sister came to wake me in time to dress and leave for Dover, I was ready, my kit packed and closed.

I said, “Keep an eye on Corporal Caswell,” as she walked with me to the waiting ambulance. “He—he’s not to be trusted.” It was as far as I could go without telling her the whole story.

“Yes, that’s true enough.” Sister Bailey laughed. “He’s flirted with all the Sisters. Nothing serious, of course, just passing the time. He knows how charming he is.”

I bit my lip. “Still, be careful.”

“Always.”

I got into the ambulance, thinking that I should have asked Matron to call the MFP after all.

But would anyone have listened to me? “Corporal Caswell” had seen to it that everyone believed he was a lovely man, while giving me nothing to be going on with.

A
fter we reached London it required three days to escort all my charges to their destinations. Blind patients went to a lovely house in Essex, while those with shattered bones continued to Suffolk, where the care was extraordinary.

I discovered that the nurse I’d replaced was due a short leave, and I was expected to take it in her stead, although I had volunteered to go back to France.

Paperwork, apparently, would be impossibly confused, so said the doctor in Suffolk. The lorries that had conveyed us there had no instructions about returning me to Dover, only to London.

I managed to put in a telephone call to Somerset before I left Suffolk, and so my father was there to meet me when I arrived outside the barracks.

He looked well, although the strain of this war had touched him too. Everyone was well at home, he assured me, although several friends had died of the contagion that was rampant. One of them was the mother of a girl I’d known in India.

After looking in on Mrs. Hennessey, the Colonel Sahib and I went on to Somerset. We were halfway there and had stopped for tea when my father said, “You and Simon have been busy. We’ve hardly seen you on your last few leaves.”

I could feel myself flushing and looked down. “You’ve been away as well. And Portsmouth was so short a stay that I couldn’t have come home at all. Fortunately Simon was there to rescue me and give me a night’s lodging. The town is full.”

“Yes, I’m glad of that. Your mother worries when you stay alone at a hotel.”

That made me smile. “How like her to worry about that, when I crisscross France in the company of strange men.”

He laughed but said, “Crime doesn’t go away in wartime.”

That sadly was true.

“Still, there’s something going on, Bess. And you might as well tell me now, or I’ll put Simon on the spot.”

“No, he doesn’t deserve that. All right, if you must know.” I sighed as I looked around. The next tables were too close, we could be overheard. “It’s a long story. And a confusing one. Wait until we’re back in the motorcar.”

We finished our tea and left. I tried to think how best to start my tale, and in the end decided to begin with the Subedar.

My father’s face tightened as I described what I had seen, and how Simon and I had gone to Petersfield and even to Winchester. But I stopped short of telling him that I had treated Lieutenant Wade and then left him in a convalescent ward in France. Or that I’d learned the name he was using now. He would feel compelled to act on that information. Best to leave the Lieutenant’s whereabouts vague.

“You should have told me. Straightaway,” my father admonished me.

“We had nothing to be going on with. For all we knew, the Subedar had been mistaken. For all we knew, the man I’d glimpsed was someone who looked rather like how I believed Lieutenant Wade might look now. Perhaps if I hadn’t spoken to the Subedar, I would never have seen such a likeness at all. Perhaps I was expecting to see what I saw.”

It was jumbled, but my father nodded.

“And you didn’t want to bring up the past when there was so little to go on. That’s understandable.”

He was silent for a time, and then he said, “There aren’t many men who could have done what Wade did. And of all the men under me at the time, I’d have said that Simon was the only one who could have got through. His knowledge of languages would have saved him, and he didn’t have Wade’s lighter eyes to make people take a second look. But there are light-eyed Afghans and others in that part of the world who are fair. It would be interesting to know how Wade accomplished it.”

“Did you think he was guilty, when the MFP came looking for him?”

“In 1908? I thought they were wide of the mark. I’d have backed him up if he’d stayed and stood trial. But then he fled. And I could see why—the proof I was shown was overwhelming.”

“Still, it could have been overwhelming—but wrong. I rode with him any number of times after he came back from England. You always sent me out with an escort, and he volunteered if he was off duty. There was nothing—
nothing
—that could have convinced me that he’d killed his mother and father only nine weeks before. Surely that would have changed him in some fashion.”

It was a theme I kept returning to—why hadn’t Lieutenant Wade suffered visibly for what he’d done? It would have made him more—human—in my eyes. The answer was always,
He had to carry it off or betray himself too soon. . . .
Judging him by my own standards was useless.

“You said that Simon is pursuing the Subedar’s past?”

“Yes. I was considering asking Mr. Kipling if his contacts in India could tell us any more.”

“All right then, go ahead. But there remain the three deaths in Petersfield.”

“I know.”

He glanced my way. “I have met one or two men in my lifetime who could kill and show no remorse. I don’t mean soldiers who must kill in the course of their duties. I’m speaking of someone who appears to be quite pleasant, and yet who could walk up to a stranger with no reason on earth to like or dislike him, and in cold blood kill him without turning a hair. One such man was in my command early on, and I had him discharged and tried for what he’d done.”

I shivered even in the warm sunlight coming through the windscreen.

The description could very well fit Lieutenant Wade. Hadn’t he charmed the other nursing Sisters, effectively spiking my guns if I’d broken my promise and betrayed him?

I had to ask. I wanted my father’s opinion. “Do you think Lieutenant Wade is one of these men?”