An Unwilling Accomplice (32 page)

Mrs. Neville opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it.

“Nor are you,” Major Findley agreed. “The leg is much better, by the way. As you can see.”

“I would have insisted on a longer period of bed rest.”

“So has Maddie. But I’ll go mad sitting in that room with nothing to do but think.”

Barbara was on the point of taking charge of the conversation again, but he forestalled her. “If this is about me, I should set the rules. You will leave the room, Barbara, Mrs. Neville. And give Sister Crawford an opportunity to decide whether her patient is sane or half mad.”

An argument broke out at once. I glanced at Simon and he shook his head very slightly
. Let it play out,
he seemed to be saying.

It was fierce, vituperative. All the underlying dislike between stepmother and stepdaughter came out into the open, while Major Findley insisted that if he was to be judged, he must have it his way.

And then as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Mrs. Neville rose and stalked from the room like an insulted tigress. Barbara turned to the Major and said, “I will not allow it.”

“You will, or I shall declare here, before these witnesses, that I have no intention of marrying you now or ever, and I will instruct Sister Crawford to use her authority to have me returned at once to Dorset.”

Barbara Neville looked as if she’d just been slapped. Her face flamed and then went pale almost at once. She cast an odd look at the man she must have thought she knew well, and without speaking got up and walked steadily out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Silence fell. I really had no idea what to say to the Major. He eased his bad leg, stretching it out before him, grimacing at the pain.

“You ought to be in your bed,” I told him. This close, looking at him in the sunlight pouring through the long windows, listening to his voice, no longer tight with pain, I wondered how I could ever have suspected he might be Sergeant Wilkins. And yet—there was something about the two men that made me wonder, even now.

I thought it must be a strong sense of purpose. Something driving them to the exclusion of everything else.

The Major took a deep breath. “When I first came here,” he said, keeping his voice low in case there were ears pressed to the library door, “I hated it. I hated her.”

“Why?” It was Simon who spoke.

“Because I couldn’t keep two thoughts swimming together. My head felt as if it would burst, hurt like hel—the very devil, and there were parts of my past that were completely blank. Even after I was told my name, it meant very little to me. I didn’t know if I was married, promised to someone, or a widower. I didn’t know if I could practice law again, or must find a way to support myself. I remembered France, the war, some of the men under me, but not my own father and mother. There were blackouts, confusion, tremendous bouts of anger. At one point a doctor informed me I’d very likely wind up in an institution. Another told me that if I put my mind to it in a quiet setting, I might, with time, heal. I was depressed enough to look for ways to kill myself, but they were very careful, at the hospital. Sister Hammond told me one day that I was selfish and uncaring, that because I hadn’t come back from France whole, I wanted to find the courage to die rather than the courage to live. And she told me too that it took far more courage to live. I think I needed to hear those things. I looked around and saw men far worse off than I. It was shocking to realize I’d been such a fool.”

He glanced up at Simon, as if seeking agreement, then turned back to me.

“It was at this stage that Barbara appeared at the hospital. I don’t know how she’d found me, and I couldn’t have told you why she would have wanted to. She would sit and talk to me. Day after day. And gradually I began to remember her. I can’t tell you how miraculous it was to piece a little of the past together. We’d met a few times at various parties before the war. I liked her, I enjoyed her company. We were paired several times for doubles at tennis. She’s a strong player and we usually won. She was a good dancer and so was I. It never went beyond that. I was no fool, she wasn’t likely to marry a solicitor from a small town. When the war came, of course, I was glad to be fancy free. It was safer. Still, I thought about her more than once while I was in France.”

He stared at the cold hearth for a time, struggling to collect his thoughts. “She came more frequently. I was afraid she pitied me and sought my company as an act of charity. A good deed for the wounded hero. It began to rankle. Then she broached the subject of my coming here to finish healing. The doctors—overawed by her, in my view—tried to persuade me to accept. It was clear I wouldn’t be going back to France before the fighting was over. They were probably just as happy to give my bed to someone else. I refused. They asked if I had anywhere else to go, and I told them I did not. Finally they suggested a trial period of a month or two, and to stop them from badgering me, I agreed.”

He shifted his leg again, then glanced toward the closed door. “And they were right, the peace and quiet helped. I could sleep at night, I began to read a little, and some of the dizziness was fading. There were still gaps in my memory, still some confusion, but on the whole I could see the doctors had been right. I hadn’t been here three weeks when I overheard a conversation between two of the maids. They were saying that I was Barbara’s fiancé, here to recover before the wedding, and they were debating whether they would take on a man in my condition. I grant you, I was taking medicines for my head and I wasn’t always the brightest penny in the purse, but it had never occurred to me that I was anything more than a good deed to Barbara. When I broached the subject, she told me she hoped that more might come of our friendship, given time. But I was looking straight at her when she said this, and there was nothing in her face or in her eyes that gave me to believe she’d fallen in love with me. Soon after that Mrs. Neville made it clear that I was to be the reason Barbara wasn’t going to marry anyone else. The damaged suitor she couldn’t honorably turn her back on.”

Trying to conceal my shock, I said, “And so you wrote those letters to Sister Hammond. Did you smuggle them out?”

“She was the only Sister whose name I could recall. There’s a boy who works in the gardens. He was brought in sometimes to help lift me from the bed to a chair or back again. I paid him to post the letters for me. I couldn’t give this address. I used Maddie’s instead. But she never answered. That’s when I tried to escape.”

“But she did,” I told him. “Only not in the way you’d expected. You hadn’t signed them, you see. And so we thought you were someone else in need of rescue.”

There was alarm in his face now. “Don’t tell me Barbara’s got another officer here—in the event I won’t go through with whatever it is she wants?”

“Sadly, this is a man who is also wanted by the police.”

I explained that Sister Hammond had transferred to Shropshire, where a private soldier had gone missing. “You may have seen him,” I said. “One of the days when you managed to escape. He was also trying to get away. Walking across the hills. I’d asked before. Do you remember?”

Major Findley frowned. “Sometimes I can’t remember things. When you cleaned my leg, I thought I was back in the hospital. I couldn’t understand why Maddie was there as well. When my head was clearer, I realized that I’d been wrong. That I’d seen you here the day the goat was brought in. I gave one of the maids a note for you.”

“Why did you shoot Mr. Warren?” I asked. “You’d been roaming the grounds, firing your revolver. You’d tied the goat out by the old barn. Why turn to murder?”

“I never shot anyone!” he said, taken aback. “Yes, I’d fired at trees, yes, I took the goat out. And tried to escape. Anything I could think of to get out of here. I wanted Barbara to believe I was hopelessly mad and send me back to Dorset. But I never shot anyone, I don’t even know who this man Warren is.”

“The miller,” Simon put in. “He was on the road just beyond the gates. Someone fired at him from the old barn.”

“My God, I wanted to leave, not to find myself in the hands of the hangman. I only used the revolver well out of the way of hitting anyone. I swear to you.”

“Perhaps you thought you were back in France,” I suggested.

“I was never shell-shocked.” He leaned forward and parted his thick hair. “Do you see? It was a head wound.”

I could see the line of the scar, still raised and red. I believed him. The shock in his face was real. And he was right, killing Mr. Warren would see him in prison.

I said before I could stop myself, “Do you care for her? At all? I must know if I’m to do anything to help you.”

His face changed. “I could. Given the chance. But not like this. Not as a prisoner here. I hardly see her. I think she knows how I feel. And still she won’t let me go.”

“Is she in love with you?”

“How could she be? I’m a convenience, like a new carpet sweeper or motorcar.” He saw my expression. “If she marries a man who isn’t right in his head, she won’t lose this house, her fortune, anything. She’ll control him, and through him, her money.”

“On the other hand, if you weren’t right in your head—and it got worse—you could take the opportunity for a little revenge, and shut
her
up here. Who would stop you?”

“Dear God, that never occurred to me.” He rubbed his forehead, taking in the possibility I’d outlined. “I just wanted to leave here, I’m not interested in revenge.”

“Do you have any family, Major? Anyone we could call to come and take you with them?”

“My parents are dead. My only brother died when he was twelve.”

There was a knock at the door and before any of us could speak, it opened and Barbara Neville came in.

“You’ve had enough time to evaluate his condition.” Instead of taking the chair she’d occupied before, she walked past Simon and stood on the far side of the hearth.

“I’ve made my decision,” I said, carefully choosing my words. “I think the Major should return to Dorset for further treatment. Or if there are no beds for him there, they will find another suitable place.”

I was watching her face as I spoke. Her jaw had tightened, and she reminded me of someone expecting a blow.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Have you considered,” I asked, “that the brain is unmapped territory. With time, Major Findley could become violent, even vicious. You might find it nearly impossible to manage him.”

There was alarm in her gaze now. “That’s ridiculous!” she snapped.

“Is it?” Simon asked. “You have no experience of war wounds.”

Before she could turn on him, I rose.

“I think this is something the two of you would prefer to discuss in private.”

The Major and Miss Neville interrupted me in a rush, their voices clashing.

The Major said, “You don’t intend to leave me here—for the love of God—”

While Miss Neville was saying, “You have no idea what you’re doing. It’s my house, I’ll decide—”

I held up my hands for peace. They stopped at once.

I said, “You can’t hold him prisoner, Miss Neville. If you want to keep him here, you must see that he’s properly examined. And then you will have to consult his wishes.”

The uproar began all over again. The door opened and Mrs. Neville stepped in, adding her own voice to the argument.

Barbara Neville to my astonishment was now in tears, although I couldn’t tell whether they were fury or grief.

There was nothing more I could do. I glanced at Simon, and the two of us moved toward the door. No one stopped us. I’d delivered my verdict, and now I was no longer important to any of them.

We walked down the passage and through the high-ceilinged hall, had nearly gained the motorcar when Barbara Neville came rushing after us.

Her face was streaked with tears.

“You think you know. You think you understand. But you’re wrong, you’ve meddled, and now it’s hopeless.” With that she turned on her heel and went inside, slamming the door hard behind her.

It rattled the tall windows above us.

Amazed, I stood there, staring after her.

“I think she loves him. She must. After all.”

“She has a clever way of showing it,” Simon replied as he bent to turn the crank. “There’s something you haven’t thought of. If anything happens to her, who will inherit that house and the Neville fortune? She may not want to marry, but she must have a child. A legitimate heir. On that previous visit, when she asked you how healthy Findley was likely to be, after injuring that leg so badly, she was probably trying to discover whether he could give her a child.”

It was something to consider. Barbara Neville, like so many women of her class, had less freedom than I did.

He got in beside me, and we drove toward the gates.

“They ought to be closed,” I said, putting my hand on the handle, preparing to open my door.

“If they want the gates closed, they can come out and shut them themselves,” he said, not pausing for me to get down.

We had nearly reached the tumble-down ruins of the barn. I said, “Simon. What about Phyllis Percy?”

We had forgot her.

“Have we missed her, do you think?”

“I can’t believe we have.”

“Then we should drive as far as Lower Dysoe. In the event she got a late start on her marketing.”

We were halfway to Lower Dysoe when I spotted Miss Percy coming toward us, a market basket in both hands. Why was she so willing to walk such a distance each day?

She was smiling shyly as we approached, not encouraging us to stop and chat, but acknowledging the fact that we’d rescued her during the storm.

Simon slowed. “Can we give you a lift?” he asked.

“Thank you, no. I’m on my way to Middle Dysoe. It’s just ahead.”

I didn’t think she was. The shops there were little better than the village at her back.

I opened my door, and she looked toward me, alarm in her face. “I need to stretch my limbs,” I said. “Do you mind if I walk a little way with you? The Sergeant-Major has business in Lower Dysoe. He’ll collect me when he’s finished there.”

She couldn’t say no. I was already getting down, and the roadside was free to anyone who cared to walk along it.