A Simple Country Tragedy

by Blythe Baker

  “All right, it’s clear we have a great deal to discuss here,” Sam said, stopping and giving me a rather hard look. “Let’s start nearer the beginning. Sidney was not, in fact, a Scotsman.”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “You say he was an undercover spy?” Sam asked.

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “And German?” Sam asked.

  “Yes,” I repeated. I had told him all this. Why did he insist on hashing it over again? Had I not been clear enough the first time?

  “What I don’t understand, I suppose, is why he was following you?” Sam asked. “You said he located you here in Brookminster and pursued you here, where he gained your trust so as to access information. About what?”

  I looked up at Sam, slowly. My head felt as if it was full of lead. “I…I don’t think I can tell you that,” I said.

  Sam’s piercing blue eyes hardened like crystal. “It was about your husband, wasn’t it?” he asked.

  My eyes widened for the briefest moment, but it didn’t matter. I knew he’d seen it.

  Sam nodded. “Very well. I understand that because of his position within the government and the military, there are likely things you cannot share with me.”

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry.”

  “No need to apologize,” Sam said. “Do you have plans to get the information that Sidney told you to those who need to hear it?”

  I hesitated. That was something I had not considered…There would certainly be people interested in knowing that the German spy who had killed Roger was now dead. I just wished I had the letters to give to them as well…especially the last one.

  My heart skipped a beat. The letter that Roger had written last to me…I must have read it a thousand times, especially after his death. And more recently, I had searched it for hints about his death, trying to see if he had sensed the end was coming, even before I’d ever suspected there could be a code written into the lines of script.

  “What is quite astounding to me is that in order to distract you, he lashed out and killed Wilson Baxter. There was no motive aside from boredom or selfish gain. Surely he could have sent you on some wild goose chase instead of taking another man’s life…” Sam continued, drawing me away from my thoughts.

  “That troubled me as well,” I said. “It was so senseless…Wilson Baxter never did anything to Sidney, but Sidney wanted his death to be a way to keep me occupied while he finalized his own plans. I suppose he thought that if I was too busy looking into the murder, I wouldn’t have the time or energy to notice his scheming.”

  “Well, in that way, he was clever,” Sam said. He shook his head, clicking his tongue in disgust. “He should have covered his tracks better, though. He was in the top three suspects for Wilson’s murder.”

  “To be honest? I don’t think he cared,” I said. “I think he assumed that by the time you figured it out, he would have killed me too and been long gone with the information he wanted.”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Sam said. “What troubles me most, I think, was that I failed in my duty.”

  “How so?” I asked, brow furrowing.

  “I’m an inspector. It’s my task to discern when people are lying, and are not who they say they are. Sidney Mason…well, I never thought twice about him. He seemed honorable enough, helping out everyone in the village. He always seemed charming, in his way, and no one ever complained about him.” Sam scratched his stubbled chin. “Yes, I suppose that made for the perfect disguise, didn’t it? Being so upstanding that he went entirely unnoticed?”

  “And he was trained to do just that,” I said, thinking back to the fact that he’d managed to infiltrate British Intelligence, entirely undetected. “So I wouldn’t blame yourself for not seeing it sooner.”

  “Nevertheless…people’s lives could have been saved, and in a way, that is my responsibility.”

  He resumed his seat across from me at his desk, and his gaze softened somewhat.

  “I am glad, however, that you managed to find your way out of there unharmed. Not only are you able to bring to light the answers about Wilson Baxter’s murder, but also the information you needed from him about your husband. And that could be worth more than gold in many ways.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I imagine it could be.”

  “But Helen…” Sam said, his deep voice gentler now. “I’m glad you are all right. I may not have been there to witness what happened, exactly, but you were the one to make it out of there alive, and to have outwitted a spy…well, that’s a feat in and of itself.”

  I frowned, my eyes stinging. The killing of another human being was not a matter I took pride in. Yet, I couldn’t dwell on it right now.

  “But wait…” I said, my mind beginning to move faster than I could keep up with. “What if he didn’t destroy it all completely?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?” Sam asked, his gaze hardening.

  “Sam, give me some paper,” I said, my heart starting to race. “And a pen.”

  “For what?”

  “Please,” I said. “Now.”

  Sam pulled open the drawers of his desk and pulled out a clean sheet of paper, pushing it across the desk to me. As soon as the pen was in my reach, I began to scrawl words down on the page.

  My Dearest Helen,

  How I miss you so. The weather here in London is less than ideal, with the winds coming in from the east almost every morning, bringing with them the chill of the winter sea.

  “What are you…?” Sam asked.

  I ignored him.

  I kept writing. Writing and writing, as easily as if the words had been my own.

  I sat there for nearly a half hour, during which Sam went to fetch us both some tea, of which I drank nothing. I feared if I lifted my hand from the page, I would forget a word, or misplace it, or misremember.

  “There,” I said, letting the pen fall from my now aching fingers, my palm clammy. “There may be a word or two missing here or there, but I am almost positive it’s a very, very close match.”

  Sam peered at it over my shoulder, which I realized was entirely harmless, all things considered. Neither he nor I knew the key to the code that Roger had settled in between the words.

  “I always wondered why this letter felt just a little different from the others he’d written. He spoke of things more poetically than he ever used to. After he died, I thought it was his way of romanticizing the world…but the truth was…”

  I picked up the letter, folded it in thirds, and then looked up at Sam.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “For?” he asked.

  “Everything,” I said. “I never could have done any of this without your help.”

  “Oh, yes you could have,” Sam said. “You did this all on your own anyway. I may not know why that letter is significant, but I imagine those who will want to know everything Sidney said to you will certainly be happy that it survived inside your head the way it did.”

  “I suppose I will need to return to London,” I said. “I need to make sure this letter is delivered with my own hands. Who knows who I can really trust anymore?” I looked up at him. “Aside from you, of course, Sam…”

  Sam’s eyes softened, and he took a step toward me. “Helen, I…” he said. “Perhaps this is not the time to discuss it, but after everything that’s happened, it makes me wonder…where this might leave things between – as I have been rather hopeful that something might – ”

  I held up my hands, my heart suddenly in my throat. “Sam…” I murmured.

  I stared up into his face for a moment. His eyes, so kind, and so blue, reflected my own face peering up at him.

  Sam was a good man. I knew that if things were different, he would have been the sort of man I would have been able to trust with my heart. Perhaps not initially, but he had proven himself over and over.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “But I cannot think about those sorts of things right now…even as much as I respect you. I…I opened my
self up far too much with Sidney, and I’m not certain I could easily do that again. At least…not right now.”

  Some of the light left Sam’s eyes, and he looked down. He exhaled a long breath. “I understand. I’m sorry for putting you in such an awkward position.”

  I reached out, tipping his chin up so he could look at me once again. “You are a good man, Sam. And perhaps, given time, my heart will heal, and…”

  He gave me a small smile before turning and walking back around his desk.

  “Well, I do not wish to stop you from your inevitable trip to London,” he said, cleaning up the pen and extra papers I hadn’t used that were still lying across the surface of his desk. “We will all be here for you upon your return.”

  I smiled at him. “Thank you, Sam.” And I hoped he knew I meant it.

  He nodded to me, but then turned toward his filing cabinets, returning to his work.

  My heart ached as I turned and headed from his office.

  Sam was a fine person, and perhaps the sort of man I could fall in love with.

  But those things would certainly have to wait. I had far too much else to worry about for now.

  I glanced down at the letter in my hand. It was rather hard to believe I had been able to remember it…but those words had written themselves on my heart after Roger’s death, and I had read them so many times I could have recited them in my sleep.

  Confident in my ability to recall what they’d said, I set my mind on finding the fastest way to London…knowing that there would be celebrations and excitement waiting there for me.

  15

  It wasn’t even a week later before I was standing outside my front door in the bright sunlight, waiting once again for Irene’s brother George to come and retrieve me and take me back to the train station, where the ticket in my pocket would allow me passage on the train to London.

  The sun hat I wore had a wide brim, shielding me from the worst of the rays. I’d fashioned a black ribbon around it, tying it in a lovely bow that hung down over the back of the hat in an elegant manner.

  It had given me something to focus on, aside from Sidney’s death, in the last few days.

  The trees cast long, dark shadows across the street, and the buildings themselves harbored cool alcoves in the alleyways between them, where the sun had not had a chance to reach. The Hodgins’ large sheepdog was lying prostrate in one of these alleys, relishing the cool earth against his belly.

  I did my best not to look over at the house next door to my own.

  Sidney’s body had been removed from his home just a few hours after I’d gone to speak with Sam. True to his word, the inspector had managed to smooth over any official repercussions for the death, claiming everything I’d done had been in self-defense. My testimony was found sound when they discovered the bottle of cyanide pills just a few feet from Sidney’s body, along with all of the photos of Roger, though no one aside from Sam knew who it was. The rumor going around the village was that Sidney had been a stalker of mine, and that was why there had been a picture of me on that board of his.

  I did nothing to deny it, of course, as it wasn’t entirely different from the truth.

  A movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention, and when I turned to look, I found the street empty.

  It wasn’t the street, however, that had caught my eye. It was something sinking deeper into the shadows between two other homes further up the street.

  A chill ran down my spine. Sidney –

  But wait. It couldn’t be him. He was dead.

  I blinked, and I could clearly see the silhouette of someone standing there, and from the weight pressing upon me, and the hairs on my neck standing straight…they were looking directly at me.

  But wasn’t the man spying on me Sidney? I thought. I’d been so certain that the man I had glimpsed watching me from time to time had been the same one breaking into my house.

  So who is this person following me?

  I set down my suitcase and stepped out onto the street. The figure hadn’t yet moved, and so I slowly started toward them, my heart starting to beat faster.

  As I stepped into the alleyway, the figure moved backward, staying well within the veil of the shadows.

  This was the closest I’d ever been to the person. I had never had the chance to stare at them like I was now.

  It was clearly a man, who was quite tall now that I stood so close. He had rather broad shoulders, much like Sam Graves, but he seemed more chiseled, and in a different sort of way, as if life had molded him to look this way.

  And yet…something seemed oddly familiar about the way he stood there, staring at me.

  “Who are you?” I asked, my heart beating so loud I was certain the strange man could hear it.

  He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. For a moment, I wondered if I was actually seeing a man, or perhaps nothing more than the trunk of a tree distorted by the sunlight and shadows.

  ‘All right, well, if you won’t tell me who you are, then can you tell me why you are following me?” I asked. “And how you somehow seem to know my every move?”

  The man still said nothing.

  Instead, he nodded his head, just once, before turning around and slipping around the corner between the shops.

  I hurried after him, wanting some answers…but was stopped dead in my tracks as a scent I had long since forgotten passed over me, making my knees weak.

  I clutched the honey-stone wall beside me for support.

  That was…

  It was a strong scent, though very pleasing. Musk with a hint of woodsy, earthy greenery, like pine trees in the dead of winter, or the last grass of the autumn. It smelled clean, comforting, and…

  Roger.

  It was his cologne. I would have recognized it anywhere. He wore it all the time. I could never remember a time when he hadn’t worn it.

  My heart lurched, every one of my nerves suddenly singing.

  Does this mean – no, it’s not possible – can it be?

  “Wait!” I called, hurrying around the corner.

  The silhouetted man had disappeared.

  I stood there, my knees trembling.

  “R – Roger?” I murmured, clutching the wall.

  I turned and inhaled once again, desperate for another chance to smell his cologne. It was much fainter now, but it still hung in the air ever so slightly.

  My heart ached as I looked all around. Where had he gone? If that – but there was no way – why would he have walked away –

  A horn honked, drawing me from my whirling thoughts.

  George. It must have been George, ready to take me to London.

  But – Roger –

  If it was, somehow, by some miracle, indeed Roger…if it had been Roger this whole time, then why hadn’t he revealed himself to me? Why hadn’t he showed up at my house, ready to sweep me off my feet? Why hadn’t he been the one to defeat Sidney, if he’d known who he was?

  The horn honked again, and I hurried from the alleyway.

  George was waiting outside his cab, peering up at the dark windows of my house.

  “Sorry,” I said in a somewhat shaky voice, trying to smile. “Didn’t mean to make you wait.”

  He turned and smiled at me. “There you are. What were you doing all the way over there?”

  “I – I thought I saw someone I knew,” I said.

  George’s eyes narrowed. “You all right? You look a bit like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I laughed, though it sounded hollow in my ears as I went to fetch my suitcase. “It was something like that, yes.”

  He helped get my things in the boot of the car, and then soon, we were off.

  George began to regale me with tales of his latest trip to Brighton, but I hardly heard him. My mind was utterly focused on Roger.

  It couldn’t have been him…I thought. It’s not possible. He was killed by Sidney back in London all those months ago.

  Unless…that was what I was meant to believe. Was
it at all possible that his death had been faked not once, but twice? Was it possible that he somehow managed to convince Sidney that he was dead, while also convincing many, many others of the same thing?

  But why?

  That much should have been clear. Roger’s position in the military was one of great importance. Not only was he one of their greatest spies, but he was also a master code breaker, according to Sidney. Was it possible the government simply wanted any enemies off Roger’s back so that he could pursue other vital, secret work?

  If that was the case, then perhaps it wasn’t that he didn’t want to let me know he was still alive. Perhaps he simply couldn’t, as it would jeopardize his mission. Maybe his brief moments of allowing me to see him in the shadows were his only way of letting me know that he was, in fact, still alive.

  My heart surged with hope. Roger…still alive. Could I even allow myself to believe it?

  Would this distance last forever, or just until the end of the war?

  And not only that…but he had deceived me, and so many others, including his family and closest friends, all of whom truly believed him to be dead.

  It left me with many questions, one of which was whether this meant our marriage was over or not.

  Despite the questions, though…I felt an unexpected sense of peace, something I hadn’t felt in some time. Not since his death, really.

  If he wasn’t dead, then there was no reason to grieve for him. And that brought me great comfort.

  I settled into the cab, smiling a little out the window, wondering if he was watching me right that moment.

  Through all of this, if I had learned anything through my investigations around the village, including this most recent one, it was that I had more control over my life and my circumstances than I had once believed. Not only was I no longer a helpless victim of fate, but I had found in my own way that I could make a difference in this world…just like Roger had.

  And I was going to continue doing so for as long as necessary, for Brookminster was my home, and I was going to help protect it. I no longer had to run from my past, and though I wasn’t sure what the future might hold, I was determined to make it a bright one.