An Unwilling Accomplice (42 page)

“You don’t want him to be the murderer,” Simon responded. “Even after what he did to you.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” I said, defending myself. “I watched Jeremy Wilkins’s face there in the bedroom. He would happily have let his brother hang. While Jason did his best to kill them both and put an end it. I don’t know what Miss Percy sees in that man. He let her walk nearly every day to Upper Dysoe. Alone.”

“How many eligible young men has she met since her sister brought her here? He’s attractive enough, she’s lonely. She wanted to believe him. Besides, he’s been pleasant to Mrs. Chatham and he’s promised to make her sister happy.”

I was happy once, I know how it feels to be happy.
Mrs. Chatham’s words.

“I won’t see the end of this, Simon. I must leave soon for London.”

“Trust your father to find a way.”

And he arrived that night in the middle of a cold downpour, Inspector Stephens in the motorcar with him. The Inspector looked a little green, as if driving with the Colonel Sahib when he was in a hurry had not been the happiest of experiences.

They found both brothers sleeping under Maddie’s watchful eye. We adjourned to the library, where Simon and I told them everything we’d done and what we thought we’d discovered.

My father listened impassively, occasionally casting a glance in the Inspector’s direction. Stephens, braced with a small brandy, heard us out before asking a number of questions.

“There’s the problem with the Army,” I ended. “Both men are deserters, of course. Will the Army take precedence?”

My father glanced at me, as if he could read my mind. Then he cleared his throat. “I defer to Scotland Yard.”

“Thank you, Colonel. I’d rather see a charge of murder and attempted murder brought. I’d like to question both men, as soon as possible. Just the Colonel and myself, if you don’t mind.”

Simon and I waited in the library while my father as witness accompanied the Inspector to speak to the two brothers. We said very little, neither of us wanting to speculate on the outcome of Inspector Stephens’s inquiries. Neither of us felt like rejoicing. We had done what we’d set out to do, that was all that mattered now.

When they returned to the library two hours later, Inspector Stephens said, “I have formally charged Private Jeremy Wilkins with the murder of Henry Lessup, and the attempted murders of Fred Warren, miller, and of Sergeant Jason Wilkins.”

“How did you know? How could you tell?” I asked quickly.

“I brought out their tunics, telling them the same tale you’d told Wilkins. The maid fetched them for me, and the younger brother, Jeremy, was all afidget. I thought he was going to leap out of that bed and tear his tunic out of your father’s hand. The older brother lay there with the resigned look of a man knowing the ax was about to fall and unable to stop it.”

“But is it enough?” Simon asked. “Do you have real proof?”

“There’s the young woman, of course, who saw the killer on the bridge, and the man in the garage, where the killer was waiting for the lorry. The man will remember sharing his beer. There’s also the stationmaster in Wolverhampton, who can tell me which brother took the train and where.” He paused. “And Mary, one of the maids, has confirmed that Jeremy Wilkins was found on the road, passed out. She was on her way to Middle Dysoe. He came to, and she brought him back to the house, when he told her that was where he was headed in the first place. The maid also remembers the rather nasty wound on his forehead. He explained he’d fallen from a borrowed horse. And that was why she found him on the road, not on the doorstep. She kept an eye out for that horse. She knew the household needed one. She even asked around Lower Dysoe, but no one had seen it. Of course they hadn’t. It never got this far. Maddie can speak to the wound on Private Wilkins’s head. With the Sergeant-Major’s testimony, we’ve placed him at the hut. And both of you can describe how Sergeant Wilkins was attacked. The Warren wounding may be a little more difficult, but I’m sure Major Findley will be well enough to testify that he wasn’t the shooter. Yes, I think we’ll be all right.”

“And the charges of desertion?” Simon asked.

“We will tell the Army that the sergeant has been helping us with our inquiries. Which in a way he has.” Inspector Stevens turned to me. “I can’t condone what was done in London. It embarrassed the Palace and left you in a very awkward position as well. If I had my way, I’d charge Sergeant Wilkins with obstruction for not calling in the Yard at once. But there you are. The war is all but finished, they tell me. Neither man will have recovered from his injuries in time to serve again.” He paused. “The King is involved. We must tread with care.”

Ambulances arrived not long afterward. One to take Sergeant Wilkins back to Shrewsbury, the other to take his brother to a private hospital under guard. I watched the brothers bid each other good-bye. It was strained, difficult on the sergeant’s part. Still angry on Private Wilkins’s side. He had expected his brother to stand by him, even in face of a charge of murder. Miss Percy was allowed to say farewell to Private Wilkins. She was in tears, promising to come to London as soon as possible to prove to the Yard they were wrong. She would see that he had the finest barrister in the country. No matter what it cost. She would appeal to the King.

Mrs. Chatham never appeared.

Simon and my father and I drove back to London. I was in my father’s motorcar, while Simon drove his own. Inspector Stephens had gone with the ambulance carrying Jeremy Wilkins. Before leaving, the Inspector had had something to say about our search for Sergeant Wilkins, reminding me that it was the Yard’s place, not mine.

I refrained from reminding him in turn that we’d been successful.

We dropped Maddie at his cottage in Upper Dysoe on our way to Biddington to retrieve my kit and Simon’s.

As we turned toward Biddington, I said to my father, “Inspector Stephens is expecting Maddie to testify. He won’t. I know him too well.”

“I daresay he’ll be willing.” In the darkness I could see the certainty in my father’s face. But I didn’t think even the Colonel Sahib could sway Maddie.

He glanced across at me. “This is for your ears only, my dear. The man you call Maddie isn’t what he appears to be. It was the Second Afghan War. 1878. Your grandfather’s war. An Army surgeon by the name of Dr. Madison was serving in another regiment. Disease killed more men than battle did, and he worked tirelessly in appalling conditions, without regard for himself. God knows how many lives he saved. Your grandfather was wounded, as you know, and he’d have lost his arm if it hadn’t been for Dr. Madison. There was talk of a VC, but nothing came of it. And then, worn out by what he’d been through, the doctor was invalided home. He left the Army as soon as he could, and shortly afterward disappeared. My father searched for him whenever he was in England and was finally convinced that he was dead.”

“But how could you know this man was Maddie?”

“He always carried that leather satchel with the long strap. I noticed it at once. God knows my father described it to us often enough. And I asked him outright. I also made him a promise. He can remain anonymous. An elderly doctor tending the people of three small villages in the middle of nowhere? No one will recognize him as the hero of Kandahar. He’ll return to Warwickshire, and who will be the wiser?”

“The newspapers—”

“Inspector Stephens sees him as he is today. I’ve made sure of that. Why should the newspapers know any better? If Miss Neville were involved, it might be very different. Mrs. Chatham and her sister are of little interest in the popular press. Besides, the government will wish to keep Hoo out of the newspapers. They’ll not care for any additional sensationalism.”

I had my doubts all the same.

Two days after we reached London I was boarding my transport to France.

As we sailed out of Portsmouth harbor, I waved good-bye to my parents, who, having seen so little of me, had been determined to enjoy every minute left of my leave.

Simon had been called away.

I had spent so much time in his company of late that I found myself missing him.

A letter from the Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service found me in France soon after I’d arrived at my first posting. It informed me that all questions about the performance of my duties in the matter of Sergeant Wilkins’s activities had been permanently removed from my record. I carefully restored the letter to its envelope and tucked it in my kit. It had been a long journey, earning that restoration of my good name. It was possible that either the Army or Scotland Yard would have sorted out Sergeant Wilkins’s guilt or innocence eventually. But I wasn’t convinced of it.

Much later my mother sent me the cutting. Jeremy Wilkins had been convicted on all charges, even as he denied any role in the events. His brother had refused to testify against him. Miss Percy was not there in the courtroom when the verdict was handed down. In spite of her promises of support.

According to the newspaper cutting, Dr. Lawrence Madison had made an impression on judge and jurors alike with his clear, comprehensive account of events.

My father had kept
his
promise to Maddie. No mention was made of Dr. Madison’s previous service. He’d been sick of war, and he’d found in the isolated world of the Dysoes a haven of peace. Villages that had escaped so many armies century after century hadn’t managed to avoid the Great War completely. Major Findley, the Wilkins brothers, and how many others had brought the fighting closer than Maddie had ever dreamed.

Still later, my mother sent another cutting. It was the brief announcement of the engagement of Miss Barbara Alice Mary Neville to Major Arthur James Clifton Findley.

And I was back at the Front, where I belonged. For now.

[Itzy]

A
BOUT
THE
A
UTHOR

C
HARLES
T
ODD
is the author of the Bess Crawford mysteries, the Inspector Ian Rutledge mysteries, and two stand-alone novels. A mother and son writing team, they live in Delaware and North Carolina, respectively.

www.charlestodd.com

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A
LSO BY
C
HARLES
T
ODD

C
REDITS

COVER DESIGN BY JAMES IACOBELLI

COVER PHOTOGRAPHS: BRIDGE © BY VISITBRITAIN/BRITAIN ON VIEW/GETTY IMAGES;

WOMAN © BY LEE AVISON/TREVILLION IMAGES

C
OPYRIGHT

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

AN UNWILLING ACCOMPLICE
. Copyright © 2014 by Charles Todd. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

FIRST
EDITION

ISBN 978-0-06-223719-4 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-0-06-233588-3 (international edition)

EPub Edition August 2014 ISBN 9780062237217

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