by Evelyn James
Kneeling before St Helena he felt foolish. He glanced up at the statue. Someone had taken great care over its creation; though the paint was fading and, in places, had fallen away, the statue was still a work of art as much as a religious icon. Tommy had never heard of this saint and was not even certain she was recognised by the Catholic church. She was perhaps purely the work of the people in this town. Did that matter?
He stared at the softly painted face, with its gentle smile and beseeching eyes. It felt like she wanted him to say something. Tommy closed his own eyes and dipped his head, clasping his hands together to pray. Sometimes you had to take a chance. Clara would say this was all nonsense, but did she really know that or did she just find it too incredible to accept it as reality? What harm would it do anyway? Tommy was reaching a stage where anything that could vanquish his demons and prevent them from resurfacing at random moments was attractive. In any case, it was not as though it would do any harm to pray to the statue. As long as Clara never heard about it.
Tommy formed a simple message in his mind and, still feeling awkward, mentally spoke the words to St Helena. He asked for her blessing, apologising in the process that he was not Catholic, and maybe shouldn’t really be asking, but, oh well… The demons were bad, he said. Worse than they had been in years. It was coming back to Belgium, of course it was, but he was afraid that now he had stirred the darkness within himself it would stay for good. He hoped she might help him, but he didn’t expect anything, not really. She probably had better things to do, and he never went to church…
His thoughts trailed off. He lifted his eyes and looked at the statue again. Was he expecting some sort of change in its demeanour? The statue was still a statue. He started to feel stupid. Tommy rose stiffly and wandered back to find the others.
Colonel Brandt spotted him first and called out from the trees. Tommy turned off the main path to the shrine and walked just a few paces into the woods, to a spot marked with a large rock. Dr Jacobs was quizzing Olivia on the names of the wildflowers around them as he approached.
“Ah, my friend! This is the place where the bones were found.”
Tommy noticed that the ground sloped slightly and the soil was very soft. It would have been easy to dig a grave quickly here, but it was also clear how a little heavy rain could wash the soil down the slope. Some of the trees had their roots exposed where the soil had eroded.
“His head was where you are standing,” Dr Jacobs had picked up a fallen branch and pointed to Tommy’s feet. “He was curled up in a foetal position and placed upright in the grave. I suspected he had been tied up in that position to make it easier to get the body into the small grave. There was no trace of rope, however. I did postulate that he might have been made to kneel in the grave where he was killed, that would explain why he was upright with his knees bent, but more likely he was placed that way afterwards.”
Dr Jacobs didn’t seem to have any qualms about saying all this as Olivia wove a garland of wildflowers on the grass beside him. The little girl seemed oblivious to the discussion, or perhaps she was used to her grandfather talking about his work.
“What can you tell us about the victim?” Tommy asked. “I know he was holding a rosary and wearing a crucifix, was there anything else in the grave.”
“Scraps of material,” Dr Jacobs frowned. “This soil is very acidic, it eats anything organic. There was no clothing left, except for small pieces of leather near the feet that appeared to be from a pair of boots. As you say, he was wearing a crucifix and carrying a rosary. The crucifix was made of gold and I would have thought worth quite a bit. That it was not taken seems to suggest he was not killed for his valuables. The rosary was made of various materials. Some of the beads were amber, others coral and some just wood. It was wrapped up in the finger bones, suggesting he was clutching it in his last moments. I had the impression he was praying as he was killed.
“He was shot in the back of the head. The bullet was still in the skull remarkably. I did not have the expertise to analyse it myself, so I sent it away. A preliminary report suggested it was a bullet from a low calibre revolver, not military issue, but probably German.”
“German!” Brandt almost coughed on the word. “Are we saying the man was killed by enemy troops?”
“It raises the possibility,” Dr Jacobs agreed. “However, the revolver could have been bought before the war or have been stolen from a German soldier. It was not something the German army issued to its men.”
“Another clue that proves useless on its own,” Tommy sighed. “Is there anything else the bones told you which might have helped identify the man?”
“He was tall, about six foot. Still quite young. Remember what I said about the fissures on the skull? They were still fusing and were very visible, they virtually disappear in older people,” Dr Jacobs casually drew a squiggle in the soft soil, which may have been a representation of a skull fissure. “I doubt the man was more than twenty years old, though he could have been about twenty-four or twenty-five.
“He was in good health, at least from what the bones could tell me. The only noticeable defect was that he had broken his arm at some point. It would not have been that long ago as the new bone growth was quite fresh. I would guess maybe two or three years before he died. Otherwise there was nothing remarkable. I must emphasise that while it is not possible to be absolutely certain the victim was a man, certain skeletal features were very masculine. I doubt it was a tall woman.”
Tommy found himself staring at the ground before his feet, as if he could stare into the soil and see something that would explain who had been buried there. He noticed that Colonel Brandt was doing the same.
“Do you suppose the man in the grave was Father Lound?” Tommy asked.
Dr Jacobs gave a soft sigh.
“It is what the police believed. There was no way of formally identifying him. We thought about writing to the family, but the war was still raging and things got in the way. It sounds awful, but as soon as things became difficult we pushed the case to one side to work on other, more urgent things. I never did write to the family. Maybe that is just as well. I don’t like distressing people for no reason. I could not prove this was Father Lound and the family could not possibly identify him from a skeleton,” Dr Jacobs shrugged his shoulders. “The broken arm was interesting. I thought about chasing down Father Lound’s medical records, and then I didn’t.”
“If you are right, Father Lound must have broken his arm not long before he came to Belgium. There must be someone who can confirm that for us,” Tommy pulled a face. “And, if he never broke his arm, then we have a new question. Who was in the grave?”
“It is a real riddle,” Dr Jacobs nodded. “No one recalls any suspicious activity in the woods around the time the body must have been buried. I have speculated over all this many nights. It was his right arm that was broken, halfway between the wrist and elbow.”
“I don’t suppose…” Tommy stopped himself, considering what he was about to say, then looked at Dr Jacobs. “Did you know of anyone else in the town, of the right age and height, who had broken their arm in the past?”
“That is where things get curious,” Dr Jacobs gave a strange smile. “I do know of one.”
“Who?” Tommy asked.
“Ramon Devereaux,” Dr Jacobs said. “But, you see, it cannot have been him in the grave.”
“Why not?” Tommy asked, thinking that Ramon had vanished at the same time as Father Lound, and that he fitted the description of the body, except for the crucifix and the rosary. “Why can’t it be him?”
“Well, because I know that Ramon is alive,” Dr Jacobs grinned. “I know what became of the Devereauxs and where they are now.”
Chapter Nineteen
Annie and Clara returned to the hotel their minds overflowing with information. Clara had written down a lot of notes, but much more she had consigned to her memory and hoped she didn’t forget it. Her scribbles were more aids to her recollection tha
n anything else.
“Welcome back mademoiselles,” Janssen greeted them with delight. “I have a most excellent meal cooking for tonight. It is a lovely beef casserole with Belgium dumplings. I am sure you will like it a lot. But you look so tired! Might I get you a drink?”
“Soda water would be nice,” Clara said and Annie concurred.
The girls settled themselves into a pair of comfy chairs in the hotel lounge to await the return to Brandt and Tommy.
“I am confused,” Annie admitted.
“Why is that?” Clara had closed her eyes, feeling very tired.
“Nothing makes sense. Was Father Lound a traitor or not? Was he murdered or not? Was he friends with the Devereauxs or not? Did he love Lina or not? I can’t see how you can untangle all this.”
“It’s what I do,” Clara smiled. “At some point all the random pieces will begin to form a pattern. You just have to find the key to it all.”
“I think I shall stick to baking,” Annie said glumly. “Recipes makes sense… usually.”
Tommy and Colonel Brandt appeared in the hotel foyer and the girls waved to them. They walked over looking as exhausted as Clara felt.
“Anything?” She asked.
“No one saw Father Lound leave the town,” Tommy said. “I made lots of notes from the case file for you.”
Tommy removed a bundle of papers from his pocket and handed them to Clara.
“The most interesting thing is that we talked to the surgeon who examined the bones from the wood. The victim had broken their arm a couple of years before they died. If we could learn whether Father Lound ever broke his arm we could prove or disprove if the body was his.”
“There is one other thing, we felt this was very important,” Colonel Brandt added as Tommy finished. “Dr Jacobs knows where the Devereauxs are living.”
Clara became excited enough that her weariness briefly evaporated.
“He does? Who is Dr Jacobs?”
“The surgeon who helped the police with the bones in the woods,” Tommy took up the discussion. “He was contacted by Madame Devereaux around the time the bones in the woods were discovered. She needed to acquire the family medical records and hoped Dr Jacobs could assist her. One of her daughters was unwell with a complaint she had had before, and the doctor who was currently treating her wanted to see her past records. She requested all the family’s records, to save her having to ask again in the future, including those for Ramon Devereaux.”
“That means the body in the woods can’t be Ramon,” Colonel Brandt explained.
“Hold up,” Clara stopped them. “When did the body in the woods become Ramon?”
“Ramon was the only other young man in the town who was missing and who had broken his arm in the past. If the body in the grave was not Father Lound’s, it could have been his, except Ramon is alive and well in a little town called…” Tommy dragged a piece of paper from his pocket and screwed up his eyes as he read from it. “Lugrule. No idea how you pronounce that.”
“Well then, we now have two more avenues to explore. I shall telegram Emily Priggins and ask if her brother ever broke his arm and we shall seek out the Devereauxs and see if their disappearance had anything to do with Father Lound’s,” Clara was elated, at last she had a way forward. “There are still many questions to answer, but we are getting there, that is for sure.”
“What about all this traitor business?” Colonel Brandt interrupted. “It has been worrying me a great deal. Someone in this town was selling information to the Germans. Was it Father Lound?”
“Those who knew him best don’t think so,” Annie spoke up. “I don’t think he did it.”
“Then there was someone else?” Colonel Brandt raised the question. “Who?”
They were all silent again. The possibilities were slender. There was no doubting that the treachery ceased after Father Lound disappeared. It could be that the spy simply decided it was best to stop his activities after the sting at Albion Hope, but it was also very tempting to imagine the end to the problem was due to the spy taking his leave of the town. That made for a very short list of suspects.
“I’m going to send that telegram,” Clara rose. “I’ll be back for dinner. I am famished.”
She was nearly out of the hotel, when she heard quick footsteps behind her and realised Colonel Brandt was following.
“Mind if I join you?” He asked, looking anxious.
Clara shrugged to indicate she did not mind. They fell into step side-by-side.
“It’s this treachery business that has me agitated,” Colonel Brandt spoke in a low voice. “Maybe it is the old soldier within me, but I can’t stop thinking about it. I know it is not what you were tasked with, but I really think you need to determine who the traitor was, Clara. They should face justice. They did not just betray our troops, they betrayed the people in this town. It is wrong that they should get away with it.”
Colonel Brandt’s usually cheery face had drooped into a frown and he did indeed look very upset.
“You don’t believe it was Father Lound then?”
“Everything I hear about his last few hours in this town do not sound like those of a traitor who has been found out. He did not appear to be in any hurry to leave, which you would think he would be having been discovered with those papers,” Brandt shook his head. “You know, it almost seems to me that he was not intending to leave at all. He was getting on with projects at Albion Hope as if nothing was happening.”
“Might have all been an act.”
“What for? Why hang around? He could have left the instant Colonel Matthews was gone. There was no need to waste time,” Colonel Brandt paused for a second. “I know you feel Matthews jumped the gun on this one, and possibly he did, but he is a sensible man. If he suspected someone was betraying information to the Germans, then I think he was right. That he failed to see that Father Lound was probably not the guilty party is another matter.”
They walked on for a while, Clara mulling over everything that had been said.
“How would someone do it?” She asked at last. “How do you sell secrets to the enemy?”
“Depends on the circumstances,” Brandt said. “First you make contact with the enemy somehow. That is perhaps the hardest part. You have to convince them you are willing to help and have good information to supply. You might go to an enemy camp or outpost, depends if it is a one-off effort, or a long-term arrangement. For instance, a soldier contemplating treason might allow himself to be captured and then reveal what he knew.”
“I would be curious to know how near to this town the German line was,” Clara mused. “And how easy it would be for someone to reach them regularly in 1917.”
“There could have been an intermediary,” Colonel Brandt said. “The traitor may not have had to go direct to those they were selling information to.”
“But the intermediary still had to get through the British lines to reach the Germans, assuming they communicated face-to-face.”
“There are other ways,” Colonel Brandt nodded. “We had ‘stay-behind’ agents, who would quite literally stay behind when the enemy moved forward and allow themselves to be overtaken. Once behind the enemy line they would start learning what information they could and would then find ways to send it to the British. One method was messenger pigeons, but that required regular drops over enemy territory of fresh birds. Another method was to have a safe box where something could be left for another agent to collect. That would be at a place where the lines were close, or even a neutral point.
“It was also possible to communicate by telephone, but it was unreliable as the wires were often cut. Other methods involved coded messages being signalled at night. Really, there are probably so many ways it is impossible to imagine them all.”
“I wonder if there is anyone local who knew about the military movements around the town,” Clara thought aloud. “They could give an insight into how contact was made.”
“I would be happy to tel
egram Colonel Matthews for his knowledge on the subject,” Colonel Brandt suggested. “He must have considered that problem too. This town was in something of a No Man’s Land, from what I recall. The Germans were on the doorstep more than once. It would be entirely possible for them to have left ‘stay-behind’ agents when they were pushed back. There are plenty of woods and abandoned houses for them to have hidden in. Easy enough for a local to have made contact with them, given information to them, and then for the agents to worry about passing it on.”
“Anyone in the town could have been behind it?”
“Anyone who was in contact with the British soldiers who came here and had access to Albion Hope.”
Clara winced at the scope of the problem, and in the middle of it all was Father Lound. She had no real proof he was not a traitor, and the circumstances Colonel Brandt had just described would have worked to his advantage if he had wanted to sell secrets.
“There is one other thing,” Colonel Brandt said, his whole demeanour grave. “Whoever did this had no qualms and no conscience. I don’t think that sounds like Father Lound and, personally, had I been here rather than Colonel Matthews, I would have considered him a red herring. Maybe he was protecting someone, or maybe he just did not know what to say when the papers were found in his office. Either way, I don’t think it was him.
“Whoever did this, they were evil and they need to be found and punished.”
They made their way to the Post Office and discovered the staff extremely fluent in English – they routinely sent messages home for British tourists and had Clara and Colonel Brandt’s respective telegrams dealt with speedily and efficiently. There was plenty of time to get back to the hotel for dinner.
Janssen had prepared something involving chicken and turnips. It tasted more appealing than its contents suggested. There were lots of potatoes in a creamy sauce and fresh bread. Everyone had generous servings. When dessert arrived Clara broached the topic she was most curious about with their host.