A Question of Honor (4 page)

It was when I was ticking off names on the roster, helping to sort out the confusion, that I saw we had a Captain Wade in one of the wards. The chart said
gunshot wound.

It would do no harm, I told myself, to have a look at him. I was fairly certain by this time that the Wade we were seeking hadn’t followed the Subedar as far as the aid station where the man had died. What’s more, no one had shown an interest in us or our wounded, no one had come round asking questions. The explanation might be, he was here, wounded by the Subedar.

And so I carried in a pitcher of fresh water for the Sister in charge. She had had a busy afternoon and was grateful for my help.

But the Captain Wade in the last cot but one, suffering from a shattered elbow, brought back no memories for me. He had fair hair and blue eyes, freckles across the bridge of his nose, and looked to be no older than I was.

Certainly not the man I’d known in India.

But of course there must be a dozen men named Wade in the British Army.

The Subedar had recognized him. I’d believed him when he said as much. Still, he was dying when I got to him. It was entirely possible that the man had imagined the encounter. I’d sat with too many who were breathing their last, and sometimes they saw themselves safe at home in the arms of someone they loved. It was comforting and eased their passage. But more than a few had also relived the horrors of their wounding or the death of a friend.

I tried to put the matter out of my mind.

Which only kept it alive.

I
was on duty when a new contingent of Sisters arrived, two of them experienced and one just finishing her training only two months before. But she was as capable as the other pair. I knew Sister Burke. We’d served together before, but Sister Hadley and Sister Morgan were new to me.

The second night after their arrival, Sister Burke had come to sit with me before going to bed, catching me up on her news. She was worried about her brother, and while she made light of it, passing it off as an elder sister’s concern, I could tell how hard it was to keep her voice light.

“He’s spoiled, of course,” she said deprecatingly. “He’s the only son in a houseful of daughters. We were delighted when he married Janet. That was the week before war was declared. And it settled him down so much I hardly recognized him. The responsibility, you see. He’d never had to look after anyone else before. Then Papa died—you remember that, don’t you? We were outside of Ypres just then. I was sent home on compassionate leave—and Rob took Mama home to Janet, rather than leave her in her own home. She was so lost, it was heartbreaking to watch.”

“Yes, I remember that. How is your mother now?”

“She’d been writing letters to Rob, telling him that his wife was seeing other men. That she walked out with them nearly every night, leaving Mama at home alone.”

“Oh, dear,” I said, knowing what must be coming. But I was wrong.

Taking a deep breath, Sister Burke said, “And then Mama died suddenly. Or at least it seemed sudden to us. Rob came home to the funeral, and the doctor was telling him that Mama appeared to be well one day and ill the next. He had something to say as well about Janet’s care of Mama, and Rob knocked him down. The doctor. It was dreadful. A terrible scene on the steps of the church.”

I could imagine it, and I said as much. “What did the doctor accuse Janet of? Neglect?”

“Not precisely neglect. She fed and dressed Mama, took her to the doctor, filled all her medicines as directed. It was just leaving her home at night alone, while Janet went out with other men. Just the way Mama had described. And she wasn’t there the night Mama suddenly took ill in the night. By the time Janet found her, there was nothing to be done.”

“When was this?”

“In May. In the midst of that influenza epidemic. But Mama didn’t die of influenza. It was some digestive disturbance.”

I quickly went through my knowledge of poisons, unwilling to believe it was possible, unable to stop myself from wondering.

I said, “And all is well still between Janet and your brother?”

“I’m afraid not. He’s just been told that Janet is going to have a child. And my brother swears it isn’t his. Couldn’t be. I just don’t know. What’s more, I don’t know what to do.”

Janet Burke wasn’t the first woman who had married one man and then had fallen in love with someone else. And wartime made it easier, it seemed. It had now become something of an epidemic as the fighting went on and on, without an end in sight.

“Where is Janet now? Still in Norfolk?”

“No, she’s gone to live with her sister in Hampshire. The Norfolk house has been closed up. It hasn’t been a comfortable pregnancy, she says, and she needs her sister’s care and support.”

Or she wanted to escape the gossip in Norfolk.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and meant it. I just hoped Rob wouldn’t do anything rash when next he had leave. It sometimes happened.

We worked together, Sister Burke and I, on two men who were shell-shocked, dazed and uncertain where they were, calling for dead comrades and fighting off attempts to dress their wounds because they were determined to return to their lines. We gave a sedative to one of them, he was so difficult, and finally persuaded the other to sleep. I felt deeply for these men, although some of the orderlies treated them with contempt, calling them cowards. The mind can handle only so much despair and horror. Killing didn’t come naturally to most men, although they had to become proficient at it if they hoped to survive. Many blotted out what they couldn’t face, and others buried it deep inside, where only they could see it. And some simply walked into a German bullet to stop the torment.

They slept, and the next morning got up and went back to the lines, unwilling to leave their men to face the enemy without them. It took tremendous courage.

And then one night when rain was coming down in sheets and we were trying to get a convoy through to the Base Hospital in Rouen, fighting the mud and the slick road and dodging columns of men moving up the line, the ambulance just ahead of ours slid into a shallow gully. Teddy was the driver, one of the best we had, but the vehicles ahead of him had turned the ground to treacle, and even his skill couldn’t save him.

Half a dozen men were pulled from the column by a Sergeant and they put their shoulders into pushing the ambulance back to solid ground. I watched them struggle for a footing, one of them nearly disappearing under the spinning rear wheel.

Another two or three men came to the aid of the first half dozen, and as the ambulance slowly crept back in line, the Sergeant’s torch flicked over it, checking the rear axle.

It flicked as well across the faces of the men still braced against the side of the ambulance. And as it did, for an instant before it moved on, I saw a face I recognized.

The torch was shut off, leaving us in the rain-swept darkness, and one by one the men who had helped push rejoined their column. It was nearly impossible to tell which one was which as they hurried forward, and then they were marching on, disappearing from view. The Sister in charge of the ambulance that had slid into the ditch signaled that all was well with her charges, and we were continuing toward the south. There was no way I could go after the column. No way I could find that Sergeant and ask him if he knew the names of the men he’d sent to our rescue.

But I’d have sworn it was Thomas Wade I’d seen. Under oath, if need be.

Chapter Three

S
oon thereafter I was sent back to England with a convoy of wounded, and after they had been settled in various clinics, I was given leave.

I sent a message to Simon that I was in London, at the flat I shared with other Sisters, and waited to hear from him.

Instead of writing, he came to Mrs. Hennessey’s house-turned-lodgings, and was standing in her foyer when I returned from ordering fresh uniforms to replace those too stained to be used again.

Surprised, I said, “Hullo. Fancy finding you here.”

He grinned. “I’ve been kicking my heels for over an hour. And neither Mary nor Diana is present in London or I’d have taken her to lunch instead.”

We went out to his motorcar, and as he helped me into my seat, I told him what I had seen the night the ambulance had slid off the road.

“Did you indeed?” Simon demanded, turning briefly to look at me. “And he held the rank of a private soldier?”

“Yes, I’m sure of that,” I said. “But I have no idea what company or regiment he was with. There was no time to see anything, really. Except his face and the fact that he wasn’t wearing an officer’s uniform.”

“Damn!” Simon swore with great feeling under his breath. “But there’s a logic to this, isn’t there? What better place to hide than in the ranks?”

“What are we to do?” I asked. “Should we take this information any further? There’s so little to go on.”

“We can’t. If we’re wrong, then we’ve stirred up the past for no reason. It will do the regiment no good.”

“Did you discover anything more about the Subedar?”

“Nothing we can use. He did live in Agra, and it was a cousin’s wedding procession that covered the sound of the shots that killed Wade’s parents. He was interviewed along with everyone else in the wedding party, but of course they’d seen or heard nothing. What’s more, there’s no proof that he knew Lieutenant Wade by sight. Only the house belonging to his parents. Wade’s father, on the other hand, was a familiar figure. The railway employed thousands of people.”

“Then we’re back to being wrong, aren’t we? I wish I could discuss this with my mother, if not my father. But there you are. It’s too painful a subject to bring up, even casually.”

The impasse cast a pall over our luncheon.

Afterward I asked, “Is Mary Standish still in the Cotswolds, do you think?”

“Mary Standish?”

“Yes, I’d like to ask her how Lieutenant Wade appeared to her while they were traveling together. And didn’t he come back to call on her before he left? She might have seen a difference in him. Something—” I broke off, then added, “Was she ever interviewed by Scotland Yard, do you think?”

“I doubt it. She wasn’t directly involved in . . . anything that happened. Bess, you don’t intend to pursue this business, do you?”

I took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Simon. It’s just—if we had only the testimony of the dying Subedar, I would let it go, because there was no corroborating evidence. Only one man’s word that he’d seen Lieutenant Wade. But what did I see? Lieutenant Wade? Someone who looked like him, there in the rainy night? I need to know. I watched my father deal with the shocking charges against one of his men. You were there, you know how we felt.”

“Yes, I was there. All right, if I help you with this visit, will you let it drop if we see there’s nothing to these sightings?”

“I promise.”

W
e found Mrs. Standish not in Shepton Mallet but in a bungalow in the next but one village. Her garden was lovely, and as we walked up the path between the beds, I said to Simon, “I think it’s the flowers people missed most in India.”

“Your mother would agree with you.”

Knocking on the door, we waited. After a moment, an older woman dressed in the uniform of a housemaid opened it.

We asked for Mrs. Standish, and we were taken to the back garden where she was sitting on a bench, a pot of water and a palette of watercolors at her side.

I recognized her at once, in spite of the ten years since I’d seen her last, only her fair hair was graying now, and she was wearing glasses.

She frowned when she saw me, then a broad smile spread across her face.

“Bess? Bess Crawford? And it’s Sergeant-Major Brandon, isn’t it?” She set aside her paints and rose to take my hand, kissing my cheek before shaking hands with Simon. “What a lovely surprise!”

“We are on our way to visit friends in the north,” I said, the agreed-upon tale Simon and I had concocted, “and as we were a little before the time, I thought I would say hello.”

“I’m so glad you did. Your mother visits from time to time. She’s told me you are a Sister now. How very brave of you. But then you were brought up with the regiment, weren’t you?”

We were offered chairs, which the maid and Simon brought out to the garden, and we sat talking for a time. I asked about Rosemary, who was engaged now to a young Lieutenant in the Black Watch.

“She’s staying with his mother at the moment. She hasn’t been well, and Rosemary went to Gloucester to be with her. She’ll be sorry to have missed seeing you.”

“I’m glad to hear she’s happy,” I said, wondering how I could, gracefully, bring up the past. Losing little Alice had been such a blow, and it was very likely that Mrs. Standish would prefer not to remember too much about that dreadful time.

But she brought it up herself, saying, “I still find it hard to believe that that very kind Lieutenant Wade went back to India and committed such a dreadful crime. I find it even harder to believe he’d killed three people after he came to ask me if I wished to stay in England or return to India with him.”

I knew so little about what had happened in England. Just what Simon had told me in passing. But Mrs. Standish would have read whatever newspaper accounts there were. I could imagine how they must have affected her. I cast a quick glance at Simon, then said to her, “You spent a great deal of time with the Lieutenant on the crossing. Did you see anything that would give you the feeling that he was distressed or angry?”

“Not at all. He looked after me as well as if I’d been his sister. We talked a good bit about Alice, you know. It helped me, even though it was very painful at the time. He’d been fond of her, which made it easier. He told me that she reminded him of his own little sister. I hadn’t been aware that he’d had one. But it must be true, because he understood just how I felt.”

“What became of her?”

“She died, I think, at quite a young age. Lieutenant Wade went with me to see the Middletons, and he asked them questions when I couldn’t—how Alice had come to take ill, how her last moments were, what doctors had been called in, the treatments they’d tried, about the care that was given to Rosemary, and so on. My own husband couldn’t have dealt with matters any more thoroughly. And he stayed with me until I’d seen Rosemary for myself—she’d been taken to the seaside at Lyme Regis to help her recover her health. Mrs. Middleton had gone with her, bless her. They couldn’t have taken better care of my children than I would have myself.” Mrs. Standish took a deep breath. “It was such an awful time. I couldn’t go back to India, and for the longest while, Rosemary wasn’t up to such an arduous journey even if I’d wished to take her. You can’t imagine how happy I was when my husband finally got his leave. But of course he had to go back. While he was here he told me about the hue and cry for Lieutenant Wade. I couldn’t believe we were talking about the same person, to tell you the truth.”

“And you noticed no change in him when he came to ask you about returning to India? Nothing had happened during the rest of his leave to make you uneasy?”

“If it had, it didn’t show in his manner toward me. He tried to persuade me to sail with him for my husband’s sake, and I’ve wondered, you know, if my going back then would have changed what happened in England or Agra. Surely he wouldn’t have killed his parents if I’d been staying there too.”

Or she might have died with them, I thought, then changed my mind. Perhaps she was right; if she’d been present, Lieutenant Wade wouldn’t have killed anyone.

It was such an odd contradiction in the man. Gentle and considerate with Mrs. Standish, and yet capable of killing his own parents.

Mrs. Standish shook herself, and said, “Well. That’s best left in the past, isn’t it? But it disturbed me for years. I couldn’t reconcile the man who had looked after me with the reports of what he’d done in apparently cold blood.”

“Are the Middletons still alive?” I asked, appearing to change the subject.

“Yes, in fact, they live on the other side of the village. I see them often. I thank the heavens that my children found such caring people to live with.”

I had already asked Simon about Mrs. Standish’s husband. He hadn’t resigned his commission; he’d stayed with the regiment and was at present serving in Egypt. I’d liked him immensely, and I was glad he was safe. If anyone could be called safe, in this war.

As if she’d overheard my thoughts, Mrs. Standish pointed to the small watercolor she’d been working on when we arrived. It was a view of the house and the back garden. “I was just finishing this to send to William. He says he has nothing to look at but desert.”

“It’s lovely,” I told her, and it was. She was quite talented, capturing the colors and the peaceful air of the gardens.

We left soon after, although she offered us tea, and as we drove away, I said to Simon, “No one told me there were other murders. Not until you did, there in France.”

“It was thought best. At the time.”

I was angry, but I could also understand why my parents had wanted to spare me.

“But who did he kill, Simon? It was here in England. Did they have anything to do with his leave?”

“It appeared to be random. There was a family. Father, mother, and daughter.”