An Unwilling Accomplice (31 page)

“But I saw him—” I began.

“When?” Simon asked quickly.

“I don’t know. You’d been gone quite some time, and I was trying to warm my feet by walking about a little. I found a place where I could watch the village street without being seen, and suddenly there he was, at the far end, by the old wall. I’d swear he hadn’t come out of the lane.” I described what the man had done. “My first worry was that he’d seen me. That’s when I took out the spanner. But he’d disappeared down the farm track, and for all I knew, the two of you were going to meet in the dark.”

“Why did he walk in a circle?” Simon asked, almost to himself. “That’s odd.”

“For the exercise? Or had he seen you by the cottages and decided to come around and cut you off?”

“I’m sure he didn’t. He would have searched there and then, for one thing. I think he uses the kitchen door because it’s quieter. I never expected him to come back the other way, I can tell you that. He wasn’t strolling, he was moving with a purpose. Nevertheless, I had no warning he’d returned. I hadn’t followed him out into the lane, you see. I decided it was best to return the way I’d come in. And there he was, in the clearing around the cottages. Barely visible, but I saw him before he saw me. He looked tired, something in the way he was standing. Just then the blasted cat found me, sniffing out the meat I was carrying. I’d expected the spaniel or another dog. She was weaving in and out around my feet, and he must have caught the movement. I managed to give her a few of the scraps just as he started looking for me. We began to shadow each other, and that went on for some time. The cat finished her food and went to him, expecting more. I thought that satisfied him because he went on to the last cottage and stepped inside.”

“Then he must be living there.”

“But he didn’t shut the door, you see. I listened for that. Having closed it myself, I knew the sound. He just stood in the dark of the open door. Just then a light came on in the first cottage. He walked toward it, and I thought he might be asking for help finding me. But he’d picked up the cat and set her down by the cottage door. He must have startled her, because I think she scratched him. I heard a muffled oath. That brought whoever was awake in the first cottage outside with a torch.”

“Yes, I saw it, probing the trees. He called to whoever was out there to step forward and identify himself.”

“I expected the other man to do just that. I was busy emptying the rest of the scraps where I’d been standing, and then I set out in the general direction of the track, but staying among the trees well clear of it. Thank God the cat’s owner found her and took her inside and shut the door. That kept the other man pinned where he was a little longer and gave us the chance to get clear. You know the rest.”

“But, Simon, did he know for certain that you were there? Or was he just starting at shadows?”

“I’m not sure. I rather think he was only half convinced that he’d seen the cat, not an intruder. He was taking no chances.”

“Why didn’t he raise the alarm, when he had the chance?”

“While I’m very happy he didn’t, it puzzled me as well.”

“Did he think you were the police? The Army? Or a passerby looking to find something he could sell for a few pence?”

“God knows.”

We sat there without speaking.

It had been a close call. I didn’t think Sergeant Wilkins, wounded and still not fit, was a match for Simon physically. But there was still the revolver. The question was, at what point would he have used it? Would he have dared to shoot and claim he’d stopped a thief? But of course that would have brought in the police. He couldn’t afford that.

My feet were really cold now, not just chilly. Simon must have realized that, for he took off the brake and began to turn the motorcar. “You can see now why I didn’t want you with me.” Then he smiled as he flicked on the headlamps. “Still, you had the spanner.”

A spanner was no match for a revolver.

He must have been thinking the same thing, because his smile faded and he kept his gaze on the road.

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

I
THOUGHT
I
would lie awake until first light, cold as I was, the lump on my forehead throbbing. But once I was in my bed and the coverlet drawn up to my chin, my eyes didn’t stay open for very long.

My last thought, as I drifted off, was amusement at the night clerk’s expression when Simon and I slipped into the inn and started for the stairs.

Simon nodded to him and said simply, “Owls.”

The poor man was still gazing after us in bewilderment as we reached the top of the stairs and turned toward our rooms.

The next morning we walked up and down the High Street, where there was no danger of being overheard, and planned what to do next.

“It could be Miss Percy’s lover, escaped from the Army,” I said. “We can’t prove it’s Sergeant Wilkins. We could try to waylay Phyllis Percy. She walks to Upper Dysoe nearly every day. We might be able to persuade her to tell us who this man is. If he walks in and out of the house that freely, she must know who he is. Unless,” I added as the thought occurred to me, “he belongs to one of the servants. A son, brother.”

“If that were true, she could send someone else to do the marketing.”

And so we set out for Upper Dysoe, in search of Miss Percy.

We’d only reached the burned-out barn when Mrs. Neville all but stepped out in front of our motorcar and commanded us to stop.

“I’m surprised to find you still here, Sister Crawford,” she said, coming around to my side of the motorcar. “Still, it’s a bit of luck and I won’t concern myself with why. Maddie has just refused to have a word with my stepdaughter. It’s really most annoying. He’s not
actually
a doctor, is he? A charlatan at best, however good he is. The problem is, she pays him. In pounds. And I suppose he’s reluctant to lose a good living. One can eat only so many hens, I daresay, or so many eggs or cabbages. And one can’t barter them for lamp oil or medical supplies.”

Completely at a loss, I said, “Good morning, Mrs. Neville. Is the Major running a fever again?”

“No, no, nothing of that sort. Maddie brought him crutches, and he’s trying them out. A foolish mistake, if you want my opinion. The poor man will break his neck. Now, if you’ll allow me, I’ll explain on our way to the house.”

She reached for my door, and I had no choice but to step down and move to the rear seat while she took my place.

Simon said nothing. I knew he didn’t care for her overbearing manner or the way she treated the Colonel Sahib’s daughter like a servant. But I was curious enough not to mind. I didn’t take my measure of myself from Mrs. Neville.

“Now then, young man,” she said to Simon as she settled in, indicating that we could continue on our way.

I smothered a smile. Simon was too well mannered to tell her he would do nothing of the sort, but I caught what he was saying under his breath in Urdu.

She ignored him, turning a little to tell me over her shoulder, “You seem like a sensible young woman, and your uniform tells me that you’ve had more than your share of experience dealing with wounded men.”

Not knowing where she was going with this, I simply nodded.

“Here’s the problem, in my view,” she began, settling back, now that she knew she had my full attention. “My stepdaughter is a very wealthy young woman with a social position to maintain. Her father tried to see her happily settled, but she’d have nothing to do with it. And yes, I do know the war has taken a terrible toll of eligible men. In my opinion, now that she’s finally decided to marry, she’s made the worst possible choice. The Major has no title, no fortune, and no position. He was a
solicitor
before the war. No doubt a charming and eligible young man to many. But not a suitable partner for a Neville.”

“I expect she loves him,” I suggested.

“What has love to do with it?” she demanded. “A young woman marries as her father dictates.”

Simon moved sharply and then was still.

“Not in every case,” I said. Mrs. Neville clearly had strong opinions about a good many things.

“Where there is a large fortune and immense property involved, it’s an arrangement between two families, not a match made at a dance party.”

“Was your own marriage arranged?” I asked.

“Of course it was. My father was a baronet and my dowry was substantial.”

“What is it you wish me to do?”

“Explain to my stepdaughter, if you please, that a wounded man with a damaged mind isn’t going to heal properly, no matter how much she insists it’s possible. I have the strongest feeling that he will never be any better than he is now, confused, intransigent, angry at the world.”

It was a fair assessment of the Major, as far as I could judge. For now. What the future held was another matter.

And then Mrs. Neville added, “You know why she’s done this, don’t you? To spite
me
. Her father left her in my care, and she’s done everything in her power to thwart me.”

Daughters and stepmothers didn’t always get along.

“I’m not qualified to judge how well he’ll heal. I doubt anyone is. So many things matter. With the right encouragement, who knows what he could achieve?”

She didn’t want to hear this.

“Nonsense. Her father would be appalled. Whether she likes it or not, she must do what’s best for her and for the family. Heiresses know this from birth.”

But Barbara Neville never expected to be the heir to Windward or her father’s fortune. If her brother hadn’t been killed, who could say what her future might have been.

It wasn’t just the head wound. To put it simply, the Major wasn’t suitable.

This woman who believed that modern progress was anathema and land had only one use, to support an agricultural population returning to the ways of their forebears, had no liberal views on marriage. I wondered if she also believed in drowning witches or burning heretics at the stake.

“I haven’t actually examined the Major,” I said, taking a different tack. “How can I possibly judge his case when I’ve seen him only once or twice?”

She turned to look at me again. “Don’t be difficult, my dear. I need your help. You’re in the Nursing Service, it’s your duty to cope with the wounded.”

After weeks of training and years of experience as a battlefield nurse, I had learned many things, come to understand more, and acknowledged my limitations. That was a far cry from offering medical opinions about a man’s future.

We had reached the gates. They stood open, and Simon drove straight through. As we swept around the circle and came to a halt by the broad curve of the steps, I tried to stop this matter a last time.

“Mrs. Neville, I’m aware of how trying this must be for you. But I really must insist—”

She waited until Simon had helped her alight from the motorcar, then turned to me as I also got down. “I have friends in London, Sister Crawford, some of whom are connected with Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service. What’s more, my cousin is a high-ranking officer in the British Army. Shall I write to them and tell them that you were less than helpful in my time of need?”

Simon stepped forward, brows drawn in anger, but I put my hand on his arm to stop him.

“That’s blackmail,” I replied quietly, “not a request for assistance in a serious matter in which I am not trained to offer an opinion.”

Before she could respond, the door behind her opened and Barbara Neville stopped short on her own threshold. Looking first at Simon, then at her stepmother, she turned to me.

“I was told you’d left Upper Dysoe.”

Mrs. Neville said, not allowing me to answer, “Barbara. I’ve brought Sister Crawford here to talk some sense into you.”

“Indeed?” Her fair eyebrows went up, and I expect Queen Mary couldn’t have looked more imperious than the woman before me. “And why should you think Sister Crawford is qualified to advise me?”

Mrs. Neville opened her mouth to answer, but Barbara Neville turned to look over her shoulder, inside the house.

“This is not the place to discuss my affairs. Come inside.”

We followed her into the dim, cool hall and down a passage to our left. Miss Neville opened a door halfway along and stood aside to let us enter. It was a large, beautifully decorated library. Shelves of books ranged round the central walls, there was a large fireplace with Dutch tiles in the surrounds, and long windows gave out onto a view of gardens. The ceiling was magnificent, intertwined garlands and musical instruments cascading into corners, a Tudor rose taking pride of place in the center.

There was a table in the center of the room, a globe next to it, and several chairs were arranged in front of the cold hearth. We sat down, save for Simon, who stood by the mantel, as if showing he was not a part of what was happening, and yet he was still the commanding presence in the room.

Barbara Neville studied him for a moment, and he held her gaze. Turning away, she said to me, “Explain yourself.”

“Mrs. Neville insists that I inform you of the problems involving marriage with a man whose wounds are—” I cast about for the right words. “Whose wounds are of such a nature that it might be years before he’s well enough to make a decision as important as marriage. She’s insisted in such a way that I had no—”

The door swung open and the Major came in, clumsily using crutches. His face was pale, his blue eyes clear but dark with pain. He swayed as he attempted to swing the door closed, and Simon stepped forward as we all watched in dismay.

He managed to keep his balance and moved toward the only vacant chair. I thought to myself that Maddie must have given him crutches against his better judgment.

“If you wish to discuss me, Barbara, I should at least be present.” He folded his crutches together and passed them to Simon.

“Thank you, Sergeant-Major,” he said, then turned to me. “You were saying?”

“I was saying that Mrs. Neville fails to understand that I’ve never examined you properly, and I haven’t seen your hospital records. I’m in no position to offer a clear picture of your prospects.”