The Traitor's Bones

by Evelyn James

  “I don’t like the sound of this place we are going to,” Annie grumbled as they walked along. “I shan’t eat a thing, I won’t dare.”

  “We will ask Janssen to pack us some provisions,” Clara told her merrily, she was unconcerned about poisoned water or air pollution, instead she was excited about the prospect of tracking down the Devereauxs. They had a lot of questions to answer.

  Clara glanced at her brother. He seemed very bright and happy that morning, it was not an unpleasant thing to see, but she wondered what had caused the change in him. He had returned to the hotel yesterday evening withdrawn and with a frown on his face. Colonel Brandt had mentioned the incident at the doctor’s house and Clara had been worried. Yet, today Tommy looked quite content and his normal self. Clara shrugged off her anxieties. He seemed fine.

  It turned out that Emily had been very prompt in responding to Clara’s telegram and a reply was waiting for her. It stated all she needed to know.

  NEVER BROKE ARM – STOP

  The body in the woods was not Father Lound’s. Clara had begun to suspect as much, but then who on earth could it be? Ramon Devereaux she would see later today, ruling him out and there was no one else missing from the town. Could it possibly be that a stranger had been killed in the woods? She supposed that was not unlikely considering the activities that had been going on during those years. Probably they would never know who the poor soul was in the grave. There was one last thing she could do, however.

  “Can you go back to Peeters and ask if he ever had the rosary and the cross looked at to determine who they belonged to?” She said to her brother. “We now know Father Lound was not in that grave, but if they were his possessions, he must have had contact with whoever was.”

  Tommy agreed. Colonel Brandt was disappointed that his own telegram had not been answered. He seemed to take the delay very personally. Clara guessed Colonel Matthews was already sick of this affair and was not going to rush to respond, not when he was doing his best to ignore the problem. She didn’t say anything, however.

  They parted company outside the Post Office. Clara had obtained directions to a gentleman with a horse and trap, who often took tourists out and about. He would probably transport them to Lugrule. She headed off with Annie.

  “I have been thinking,” Annie said as they walked, “Supposing something happened to Father Lound, an accident, and he lost all his memories like Captain O’Harris did. Then he wouldn’t know who he was or who to contact, and he could be still alive but missing.”

  “The possibility is always there until we prove otherwise,” Clara concurred. “But I think it unlikely. He was in the town on the last day he was ever seen. Any accident would have occurred here, where people knew him. If he had lost all his memories, he would still have been with people who could direct him back to his family. And we have to think about his missing luggage.”

  “Oh yes, that,” Annie sighed. “Unless, he was travelling somewhere completely innocently and had an accident and lost his memory.”

  “We’ll bear it in mind,” Clara told her, smiling at her optimism.

  The gentleman with the pony and trap was called Hermann and he greeted the ladies warmly. His whole business involved ferrying tourists about the countryside, taking them to popular views and the famous nearby spa. He even produced a small catalogue which suggested the best places to visit for those who were not sure where they wanted to go. He was somewhat astonished when Clara explained that she wanted to go to Lugrule.

  “There is nothing there, mademoiselle, just the ruins of the factories and very, very poor folk. I never take anyone there.”

  “I have a friend in the town I wish to see,” Clara explained.

  Hermann still looked perplexed, but he agreed to take them, it was after all their money. He settled them in the trap, with its red leather seats and a canopy should the weather turn bad. His pony was a chestnut brown with white socks and she was called Louvain.

  “After the unfortunate town,” Hermann explained. “My mother came from Louvain, I remember.”

  They set off with the lively pony trotting fast. Hermann felt the need to act as their tour guide and insisted on pointing out sites which they could have been visiting rather than Lugrule. He motioned to the road that would have taken them to the spa and seemed most put out he was not to take them there. Annie was becoming interested in everything around her.

  “What is that place, monsieur?” She asked as they passed a grand house with an extensive garden.

  “That was once the home of a very famous Belgium opera singer,” Hermann explained with a good deal of pride. “It was badly damaged during the war, but the singer’s daughter has spent much time restoring it and it is now a museum to her mother. You can arrange an appointment to visit. I think it very worthwhile, there is one room that escaped the worst damage and it has some very handsome plasterwork.”

  “When this case is over, Annie, we shall spend some time exploring all these places,” Clara promised her friend.

  Annie looked embarrassed that her interest had been so noticeable.

  “That isn’t necessary.”

  “This is your first time outside of England, I think it is very necessary,” Clara smiled.

  Hermann had been listening in to their conversation.

  “I shall conduct you on a special tour of all the best places,” he insisted. “You will enjoy them a good deal.”

  He spent the rest of the journey outlining the places he would take Annie and Clara, telling them all about the history of the area (carefully missing out the war years) and altogether getting more excited about the arrangement than Annie herself. Clara wondered how much he was plotting to charge them for his services.

  Their arrival in Lugrule curbed his enthusiasm. They drove in down a wide road, the houses on either side no more than piles of rubble. Skeletal iron frames rose over the town, all that remained of the great foundries and factories that had desolated the area. For every house that appeared inhabited, there were two or three that were clearly deserted.

  “During the early years of the war, this area became a battleground,” Hermann explained, his voice no longer excited. “The factories made good gun emplacements, until they were wrecked by shelling. A lot of the houses were used as hideouts by soldiers. The local inhabitants hid in the woods, well, what was left of them, until the fighting was done. There was nowhere else they could go. By the end of 1916, the British line had moved forward and beyond this town. People returned, but look at it. Nothing has been done. There are still the shell holes unfilled, still the piles of rubble from the destruction.”

  Hermann was right. All along the roadway there were deep holes now filled with water, which had clearly been made by high explosives. There were many homes that were ruins, the roofs, windows, doors and much of the walls gone. Piles of broken bricks and wood had never been cleared and were being gradually covered with grass, forming rugged mounds that had the appearance of cairns. Clara felt a shudder run down her spine as she looked at this place that had never moved on from those horrific war years.

  “Who is your friend?” Hermann asked. “Why are they here?”

  It was a good question. Why would anyone choose to live here?

  “Actually, I am looking for Madame Devereaux,” Clara explained. “I was told she moved here.”

  Hermann’s interest returned.

  “This is where the Devereauxs went to? Well, I never!” He looked around at the ruined buildings and seemed to be taking everything in with fresh eyes. “Now that is a big fall from grace! My father worked for Monsieur Devereaux when he was alive. He was his coachman, drove him everywhere. Even drove the funeral carriage when he died. My father will be horrified when he learns where the family ended up.”

  Clara could not deny his words. For a woman who had grown up in luxurious wealth, had lived in a grand house and never had to work, the transformation to living in Lugrule must have been devastating. It was a place no one would cho
ose to live if they could help it. Clara could only imagine that severe circumstances had pushed the Devereauxs in this direction. Circumstances beyond a child conceived out of wedlock.

  “Any idea of an address?” Hermann asked over his shoulder.

  Clara had the address Colonel Brandt had obtained off the good doctor. Hermann did not know the district well enough to be able to take them directly there, so they had to stop and ask an old man where to go. They crawled down dusty and almost impassable roads. The shells had not avoided the thoroughfares and great holes gaped in the ground, forcing Hermann to guide his pony onto a verge and very gingerly creep around the devastation. This was not a town that saw many wheeled vehicles, and no one had bothered to repair the roadway. Clara wondered how long it would be before this place was abandoned completely. There was only so long this wreckage could sustain life if nothing was done to improve it.

  They eventually came to a long low cottage sitting alone on the roadside. The houses either side were nothing more than shells. A grey cat slunk about the empty walls and disappeared from view. Hermann narrowed his eyes at the house.

  “Is this it?”

  Clara could not answer him. The house appeared occupied, but there was no sign of the tenants. Scrappy curtains hung at the windows and some effort had been made to grow flowers in the strip of ground that separated the road from the front of the house.

  Clara dropped from the trap and walked to the door, then she hesitated. She had a feeling the Devereauxs had fled to this unsavoury place to avoid people. The odds were against her presence being welcomed.

  “Do you want me to wait?” Hermann asked.

  Clara felt like asking him what he expected her to do if he didn’t. She would be abandoned here in this town with no means of getting back to her hotel. But the question had to be asked.

  “Yes, please wait.”

  Hermann looked about him uneasily, as if bandits would emerge from the ruins any moment and attack him. Clara doubted that any of the locals would be interested in the trap and the only use they would probably have for the pony would be to eat it.

  “I hopefully won’t be long.”

  “Take your time, I’ll admire the view,” Hermann said with a grimace.

  Annie had dropped down from the trap and joined Clara. It was now or never. Clara knocked on the front door of the house, the sound seeming very hollow as it echoed inside. It was always possible no one was home.

  “Why would anyone live here?” Annie whispered in a hushed tone of horror.

  “Desperation,” Clara replied.

  Someone came to the door. It popped open a crack and half a face was visible through the gap. Clara thought it was an older woman’s face. She eyed her visitors and then noticed the pony and trap and jumped in surprised. It was possible that Madame Devereaux recognised the son of her husband’s former driver. Even if she did not, the sight of the vehicle in this town must have been unexpected.

  “I am looking for Madame Devereaux,” Clara said politely, at which point the door was shut firmly in her face and there was the sound of a bolt being drawn across.

  Hermann glanced down from his driver’s seat.

  “Rather rude,” he observed.

  Clara frowned. Obviously the woman in the house did not want to talk to them, now what was she going to do? Clara resolved herself to knocking on the door again. Annie drifted to the side of the house to see if there was another way in or out. No one responded to Clara’s banging.

  “Any suggestions?” Clara asked Hermann.

  Their driver scratched at his head, then he dropped from his seat and knocked at the door.

  “Madame Devereaux, its Hermann van Hartt, you remember my father?”

  There was no response from inside.

  “We’ve been wondering about you all these years. My father has been worried. He thought a lot of your husband, he would have done anything for your family,” Hermann paused to listen and see if anyone replied. There was still nothing. “He will be upset to know you are living here. He always hoped you would come to him if you needed anything. He would always offer his help. I would too.”

  “Madame Devereaux, I am not here to cause trouble,” Clara added. “I am here because I have been asked to try and trace Father Christian Lound. His sister has tasked me with this. She wants to know what happened to him. I only came because I thought you might have information.”

  The house could have been empty for all the response they were receiving. Clara sighed. It was not often she failed to speak to someone in a case, but there were odd occasions when a person would completely refuse to acknowledge her queries. When that happened, you had to accept the situation and either try to persuade them or move on.

  “She isn’t going to speak to us,” Clara frowned. “For some reason she is determined to hide away.”

  Hermann looked apologetic, as if he felt bad he had not been able to persuade his former employer to speak to them. They all walked back to the pony and trap.

  A gentleman had appeared near Louvain. He had seemingly emerged from the rubble and his presence took Clara by surprise. Hermann eyed him suspiciously, perhaps thinking he would steal the horse.

  “You want to know about the Devereauxs?” The man asked, his eyes glinting like dark, jet beads.

  “I do,” Clara said, anticipating what was to come.

  “I can tell you all about them,” the man said keenly. “As long as you have the money to pay me for the effort.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “I really thought he would have taken the time to respond,” Colonel Brandt complained as he walked with Tommy towards the police station. “I thought Matthews would have the decency to realise that this was important.”

  Tommy wasn’t sure how to reply. In his experience, colonels had only a vague idea of what was urgent or important.

  “Maybe the telegram arrived after he left his office,” he said, though he was doing it more to console Brandt than to defend Matthews. From what he had heard about the colonel, he didn’t think the man was worth his time.

  “I know he is unhappy with me,” Brandt continued, sounding mournful now. “He feels that I have undermined him, questioned his decision. No one likes to feel like that.”

  “We all make mistakes,” Tommy observed. “We have to be big enough to accept that and to not be silly about it.”

  “I suppose he feels I have stuck my oar into things that don’t concern me. I am long retired, after all,” Brandt looked miserable. “And I am interfering in something that I know so little about. I wasn’t there, I didn’t even serve in the war.”

  “We are all agreed that Father Lound was not the traitor in this equation,” Tommy pointed out. “Therefore, someone got away with betraying the British, and any colonel worth his salt would not let that rest.”

  Colonel Brandt smiled a little.

  “That is true,” he agreed. “Do you think I might be worth my salt?”

  “A lot more than Colonel Matthews,” Tommy nodded. “Now, let’s see what Peeters has to say.”

  Chief Inspector Peeters was not entirely happy to see the return of the Englishmen. He refused to see them at first and made them wait around for an hour, before he finally decided he would talk to them.

  “Did you not get all you needed from the files?” He asked tetchily when they were in his office.

  “Just a couple more questions,” Tommy answered. “We wondered if you ever had anyone identify the rosary and crucifix?”

  Peeters snorted.

  “Naturally we did,” he said. “At least I think we did.”

  Suddenly Peeters did not look so confident.

  “I was only Candidate Chief Inspector then,” he added hastily. “I don’t recall every detail. Maybe there was an oversight. We were in the middle of a war and everything was a little rushed.”

  “It was not mentioned in the case file,” Colonel Brandt said as gently as he could.

  Peeters’ shoulders sagged.


  “Then we must have forgotten to do so. We could have asked the priests at Albion Hope. Oh,” Peeters’ earlier annoyance at a second disturbance was gone. “This is very bad. Had we identified the rosary and crucifix as belonging to a specific person that would have given us a clue to the person in the grave. It would not have been conclusive alone, you can’t be conclusive about these things unless you can tie the bones to a person, but it would have made us pretty confident.”

  “How many people in the town might carry such things?” Brandt asked.

  “We have a few Catholics,” Peeters said. “Though, to be honest, only one had disappeared that we knew of. I imagine that was why things got pushed to one side, it rather seemed obvious that the skeleton must be that of Father Lound. Only, we could not prove it or say what happened to him, so we never passed the news to England.

  “I know that looks bad, but please appreciate the period in which this all occurred. We were struggling, we had little in the way of resources. We did not know then that the war would be over soon. Our main concern was helping the living.”

  “The body in the woods could not have been Father Lound,” Tommy said coolly. As much as he did appreciate the difficulties war had placed the police in, that was no excuse for failing to do something as simple as asking Father Howard or Stevens about the rosary and crucifix. That would have taken little time and cost no money. “Dr Jacobs explained that the skeleton belonged to an individual who had once broken their arm. We have had it confirmed by Father Lound’s sister that he had never done such a thing. The body was not his.”

  Chief Inspector Peeters looked uneasy. All these years he had worked under the assumption the body was that of Father Lound and while it had rankled that the case had not been solved, he could at least console himself with feeling the mystery of the priest’s disappearance was somewhat resolved. Now he had an unidentified skeleton and a missing priest, everything was suddenly very messy again.

  “This… this is not good,” he admitted. “There was never anyone else suggested for the body. We are not missing any other priests.”