Chapter 8
The Present
It was that wonderfully quiet part of the morning. The nurses and doctors were scurrying about and paying no attention to my needs. I could hear the click of the nurses' hard heels echoing down the marble hallway. The guards outside my doorway were sitting on their chairs and conversing in low tones. Nurse Pennington had already come and gone with the promise of stopping by later to hear the rest of my story. She had spent the night patiently hearing my side of the remarkable events that I took part in. Whether she really believed me or not remained to be seen.
The dishes from my breakfast were piled on a tray that was balanced precariously on the side table. By any stretch of the imagination it had been rather poor fare, but compared to the food in the trenches, I considered it fine dining. I had asked repeatedly for coffee, but I was still getting weak tea cut with sour milk. Still, if this was a poor lot for an officer, I hated to think what the regular soldier would receive at their hospitals.
I got around to thinking of my own problems. This damned leg was hurting something furious and would impede any possible escape. But no matter what, I wasn’t going to give them the pleasure of having me put against a wall and shot. There had to be some way to get out of here. I racked my brains thinking of a plan. I was hoping I could count on Nurse Pennington to help out. She seemed most interested in my story. Perhaps with some further persuasion she would be willing to risk a spot of trouble on my behalf. It may sound cold-hearted to use someone like that, but I was in desperate straits.
Some loud voices broke my reverie. I craned my neck to see who was there. My heart leaped and any remaining self-pity faded once I saw Lyons talking to the guards. He was handing over a few of his choice cigarettes and giving them a round of smiles all around. They gave him the nod to pass. With a knock on the open door, he walked into my room with a broad grin pasted on his face.
“Well, well, Lieutenant Grant. Are you fit enough to stand at attention yet?”
“Not quite,” I replied and waved him to the chair. I was excited to see my old friend, but I pretended to be nonchalant; I hadn't realized how much I'd missed him. It occurred to me that I'd love to see any familiar face I knew, even Carter or Prentice.
He drew up the side chair and sat down. Leaning back he surveyed my room with some interest.
“Planning to move in?” I asked sarcastically.
“I’m just seeing how the better half lives,” he replied with a wink. “It is almost worth getting wounded for such posh surroundings. And the nurses here are something else.”
“Yes, they are,” I admitted.
He gave me a wolfish leer.
I asked, “Tell me, what is happening at the regiment? Is there any news?”
“I'm afraid there is nothing to report yet, but I just stopped by to make sure you were doing well here at the hospital.”
“Well enough,” I said tersely. “But what am I going to do? I don’t know how much time I have left. Once they have me patched up, it will be time for a short court-martial and then off to be shot.”
There must have been some evident panic in my eyes since Lyons stared momentarily at me before he continued talking. His voice was low and soothing as he said, “Look old man, I’ll do what I can for you, but I’m afraid there is little evidence to go on. I’m sure something will turn up that can prove you are innocent.”
I watched him warily, feeling as if I had lost all hope.
He shook his head. “Come on there, don’t worry. Things will work out for you. You’ve had enough scrapes with death for me to know that you’re a lucky bastard.”
My reply was cut off by the arrival of Nurse Pennington who had already walked quietly into the room. She looked over Lyons with an appraising eye before saying, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, gentlemen.”
“Oh no,” I said.
“And who is this?” my friend asked with interest as he rose politely from the chair.
“Nurse Pennington, may I introduce you to Lieutenant Lyons.”
The fool actually gave her a bow and kissed her hand. She looked at him with a knowing expression. It gave me a slight twinge of jealousy.
“Pennington?” Lyons asked. He sat down. “Certainly not the Pennington family of Hallam Fields?”
She blushed and gave a little curtsy. “I’m afraid so.”
“So you must be Ellen Pennington. I thought you looked familiar. Surely you must remember me. I’ve actually been up to your place a few times with friends.”
“I’m afraid I don’t remember you,” she said with obvious embarrassment.
“I’m hardly surprised. They were such big get-togethers, so I must have faded into the woodwork.”
“I can’t imagine you fading in the background,” I muttered darkly. This was all news to me. I had imagined Ellen sitting around the family home, knitting and wishing for some man to come along and sweep her off her feet. In reality she was having mobs of people over for drinks and who knows what else. Were there so many men over at her home that she didn’t even recognize Lyons? My mind boggled at the idea. He was hardly forgettable.
Lyons went on and said, “You see, Grant, Ellen here is quite famous, in the right circles, for her weekend parties. We all had a bit of fun with tennis, drinks, a bit of polo and some dancing. Her father is always out of the house, so we’ve certainly had our jollies while he was gone.”
“I see,” I said coldly. I really didn't want to hear more of this, but I also didn't want to show how jealous I was.
Ellen met my eyes for a moment and then looked away. Her cheeks were turning red with embarrassment. She said, “I'm afraid to say that those parties got quite out of hand.”
“Oh rather,” Lyons said and gave me a wink.
She gave Lyons a withering stare and said, “I have some other duties to attend to. I shall stop by later in the day to check the bandages.” She took off in haste without a further word. I could hear her fast steps clicking down the hallway.
Lyons had been watching her exit with interest and when he finally turned to me, he gave a low whistle. “Some soldiers have all the luck. Here I was thinking you were lonely with some troll of a nurse at your side, and instead you have an angel like that looking after you.”
My stomach felt sour. I said, “What can you tell me about her? I’m surprised that you know her at all.”
“Really? You must realize that England is a smaller country than America. The aristocratic crowd makes for even a smaller group of people than you could imagine. But I can tell you that she was a popular girl. Plenty of blokes were after her.”
“Like yourself?”
“Me?” he asked with surprise. “You give me too much credit. You must trust me when I say that I never had any such designs on her. She was always out of my league. But you seem to be doing rather well with her. I can tell you that you're getting further along than anyone I ever knew.”
Those words made me feel better, but I said innocently, “I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Look, old man, I can tell you're interested in her – that's obvious enough to me. And I thought we two were comrades. There is no reason we should be hiding anything from each other.” He leaned back in his chair as if he had proved his point. A lighter and cigarette was flipped out. He was soon smoking away.
“You've been too long in the trenches, what do you know?”
He grinned and said, “I remember our trip to Paris. You were doing well enough with a certain girl there.”
I let out a laugh. “She was a prostitute - of course I was doing well since I had a pocketful of cash.”
“I still say you have a way with women. A girl like Ellen Pennington is a rare catch let me tell you.”
“How are things with the regiment?” I asked to change the subject. I didn't wish to discuss my love life with Lyons. He had nothing to offer but bad advice.
&n
bsp; “You asked me that already. You mean, how are your men doing? I know you miss them.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Part of me does. I'm not sure why.”
“That's easy enough – you're like a father to them. They look to you for guidance in a dangerous world.”
“And led them through hell and back,” I said grimly.
“They don't look at it that way. They know that you're trapped in circumstances beyond your control much like they are. They know that you're looking out for their best interest - at least as well as can be expected in this war. Don’t worry, your men are doing just fine. They still wonder how you ended up here in the hospital since they were beginning to think you were invincible. But word of why you are here has not been forthcoming, and I certainly haven't said anything to them.”
I nodded and reached over for a cigarette. Lyons lit it for me and patted me on the shoulder. “I'm afraid I must be off. I didn't exactly come here with permission from the powers-that-be.”
“Thanks for taking the risk and for taking the time to see me.”
He got up and gave me a wink. “Don't let the bastards grind you down. You'll be up and about soon enough. I'll see that you're set free of this gross injustice and we can go visit Paris again.”
“I would like that.”
“I know you would,” Lyons said and with a wave of his hand he was off. He stopped to thank the guards and then his footsteps faded down the hall.
I suddenly felt lonely and realized I couldn't wait until Ellen came by to dress my wound. It was good to unburden my story on her. She was a good listener and a good woman too. Maybe Lyons was right and she was a good catch. To take my mind off of her, I thought of my trip to Paris.
Lyons and I had gone there for a day on leave. It was before the start of the great push. Colonel Smythe had decided, after our bad experience out in No Man's Land, that a little rest and relaxation was in order. We were given just one night away, but that was a gift I gladly took. So with my friend as my guide, we had set out for Paris. Lyons had been there many times before and promised we would have a good time. So with a happy heart, I left my company behind under my sergeant’s care, and we caught the train.
The train trip was long, but I didn't mind it in the least. The cars swayed and bucked while my face stayed glued to the window. It was amazing the number of soldiers and transports I saw. A large amount of men were certainly being moved to the front. But best of all was the untouched countryside – green with the summer sun baking the ground. The farms and villages sped by with few words passing between Lyons and myself. After living in the trenches, one forgot that another world still existed.
“You're enjoying this trip,” he remarked.
I nodded. “The trenches are claustrophobic. It is strange to be somewhere where you’re not surrounded constantly by death.”
He motioned towards the other officers riding in the train and said, “Death is everywhere. This train could crash. We would all be dead in an instant.”
“You're a gloomy sort,” I shot back.
“Hardly,” he said with a smirk. “I'm just a realist. Being on the front lines just sharpens the mind and makes you realize how frail life is. It makes you realize that you have to take what you want out of life before it takes you.”
“There are laws in this world,” I reminded him.
“I know that,” he mumbled and turned his own attention back to the passing landscape.
When we arrived at Paris that evening, the sheer beauty of it all was unexpected. The city was brightly lit up, and a gay, carnival atmosphere ran through the crowded streets. People were laughing with a number of drunken soldiers staggering about. Prostitutes were also prowling the streets, trying to deal in their trade. It was like the war was far away and of little concern to them all. I had to admit it made me angry thinking of the sacrifices my men had given for these people.
“Now what is the matter?” Lyons asked as he led me through the maze of streets. “You’ve been very quiet.”
“It's these people here. It just doesn't seem right.”
He shook his head. “You'll get used to it. The men and women here don't know what war is about. They aren't out there on the lines like us. Don't blame them for being sane enough to stay away from it all. If the Germans broke through then they would be clamoring for our help and blaming us if we didn’t come to their aid.
“It's still not right,” I growled.
“I think you need to relax and have a drink before we get to the hotel. I know a nice little place where the booze is good and cheap. It will pick you up before we go on to see the rest of the city.”
“Maybe you are right,” I agreed and let him take me by the arm.
We walked a few blocks to a little dive that was filled with soldiers and women. I was never sure who was a prostitute or just a local girl, but they were everywhere trying to get a drink bought. Lyons ordered the best whiskey they had, and we began some serious drinking. I'm normally not a heavy drinker and was soon slurring my words as we tried to talk over the din. Soon a pretty, petite black-haired girl came to our table. She kept slipping her arms around my shoulders and demanding I buy her a drink.
“Achetez-moi une boisson le général?” she asked.
I didn’t know enough French to exactly understand her, but I knew what she wanted. “Oui,” I snorted and waved over to the harried waiter.
“Whisky s'il vous plaît,” she said to the waiter.
He was a slick-looking devil with a wax-pointed mustache. I saw him give the girl a little wink and even in my drunken state, I realized she was working the crowd for the money. Sure enough, when the waiter came back with the whiskey, I grabbed it out of his hand and before he could stop me, I gave it a sip. It was nothing but brown-colored water. I handed the drink to the girl and paid the waiter anyways. She didn't look too happy that her ruse had been discovered. She gave me a hard pout.
Lyons let out a laugh and poured another drink from our bottle. He looked none the worse for wear, but it always took plenty of whiskey to put him under the table.
“You don't need to fool me,” I said to the girl. “I'll buy you a drink anyways.”
She smiled and said in a sweetly-accented English, “Thank you.”
“So you do know English.”
“A little bit - enough to get around.”
I put my arm around here and rested my head against her shoulder. “You're a very pretty girl.”
“You're not the first to say so,” she said as she gently pushed me away to a more upright position.
“No reason to be sore. I said I'll buy you a real drink. What will you have?”
“Just a little wine,” she said and to my surprise actually sat a little closer to me. I snapped my fingers for the waiter and ordered a glass of red wine for the girl.
Lyons looked over his glass and gave me a smile. “You're a fast worker over there. Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?”
“Ah, what is your name again?” I asked her.
She gave me a grin and said “I haven't told you yet. But you can call me Pauline.”
“Pauline,” I said to try out the name. “And what a pretty name you have to match such a pretty face. My name is William.”
“Oh, you are smooth,” my comrade butted in.
I shot him a dirty look and then tried to ignore him. “Pauline, this here is my friend Lieutenant Lyons. He's an insufferable ass, but I trust him with my life. So tell me do you really work here?”
“Of course, you silly boy. I have to make money to live. Though getting soldiers to buy me drinks is not much money.” She tasted her wine and after setting down the glass she snuggled in closer to me. “You see working here is so very hard. I'm just a country girl trying to make a living. When the Germans came, I ran away in fear to Paris. This was the only job I could find.”
“It's a sad story alright,”
I said and took another drink. Not that I believed a word of it. It was some type of patter she had come up with to please the customers. A little sympathy will get you a little more money. I looked across the table and saw that Lyons was busy talking to a pretty brunette of his own.
“We're lucky you British were here to save the day,” Pauline said coyly. “I'm sure Paris would have fallen if it hadn't been for your bravery.”
I laughed a little bit and said, “I'm afraid I'm not British, my dear. I'm an American.”
Her eyes widened. She said, “An American? I thought your accent was rather odd for a Brit. Please tell me all about America. Is it true that you all wear six shooters, cowboy hats and duel each other in the streets?”
“Hardly,” I said. “You've been watching too many movies. We're rather civilized and do the same kind of things you do here.” I shot her a smile and said in a low voice, “Though I'm not sure my mother would approve of me being here with a girl as beautiful as you. It may lead me into temptation.”
“I think I can show you the way,” she giggled. “Come with me.” She stood up and took me by the hand.
I quickly tapped Lyons on the shoulder and gave him the wink. He stood up and said, “Don’t be gone long, or else we will miss our sign-in time at the hotel.”
“Damn the hotel,” I spat out. Any further protests by him were drowned out by the crowd.
Pauline led me past the bar, away from the noisy revelers and up a flight of stairs. My knees felt less steady as I climbed behind her, watching the belt of her dress move back and forth as she climbed each step. The rumble below became muted as we walked down a dark hallway with creaking wooden floors. We went past several doors where I could hear laughter and a few frenzied groans from inside. Coming to the end of the hallway, a little window was open and blew in a cool breeze. She stopped to turn and face me.
“This here is the door to my room. I’m afraid if you want to come in it will cost you.”
I leaned against the window frame and felt the cool night air blowing gently against my face. My head was pounding with drink, and my throat felt burned by a hundred cigarettes. But I nonetheless nodded and said, “I'll pay.”
“Very well, William - come in and spend the night with me.”
Unlocking the door, she let me in and lit an old oil lamp. It was a cheap little room with a bed that was too large for the space, a mess of clothes scattered on the floor and broken-down dresser with a cracked mirror balanced on top. She had also hung up travel posters on the wall. The total effect reminded me of some teenage girl's messy bedroom.
“Have a seat,” she said and motioned me towards the bed. I took her advice and watched as she shut the door and stood in front of the mirror. She reached back and unzipped her dress. It fell to the floor. She was now standing there in a faded chemise. Her legs were long and beautiful like a dancer. In the reflection of the mirror, she caught me looking at her. She gave me a shy smile.
“Do you like what you see?” she purred.
“Oui,” I answered.
“Now take of your boots and trousers. A man always looks like he is going somewhere when he is sitting on a bed wearing boots.”
I nodded and pulled my boots off. The trousers and braces soon dropped to the floor. I took off my wool soldier shirt. It felt good to be free of the damned itchy thing.
She turned the oil light low until only a flicker of light remained. We were cast in shadow, and she got into bed next to me. She slid under the covers. I did likewise. We laid there for a moment, and I could smell her long hair. It smelled good and clean.
“Do you get lonely out at the front?” she whispered into my ear with her lips nuzzling against my face.
“You're never truly alone out there. But I miss being near and talking with a woman.”
“Do you think I'm beautiful?” she asked.
“Very,” I replied with a voice that sounded hoarse to my ears.
“For a start, why don't you try kissing me,” she said and nibbled on my ear.
So I turned over and kissed her. Her mouth was cool and unresponsive.
She gently kissed me back in a reserved fashion and whispered, “Tell me, do you have a girl back home?”
“I'm afraid not,” I said honestly.
“I thought so. You don’t seem distracted with guilt. I should hate to take you away if there was someone else in your life.”
“No worries there,” I said.
“Now I'm going to shut off the light, and you’re going to make love to me.”
She got up. I watched as she stood in front of the flickering light facing me. She pulled her chemise off and stood there momentarily to let me see her entire body. She slowly spun around for effect and then leaned over and blew out the wick. It had been a beautiful sight.
Pauline got back in bed. Leaning over my ear she whispered, “Now you can kiss me again.”
So I did. This time it was warm and responsive.
Murder At Zero Hour Page 8