We Shall Not Sleep

by Anne Perry

  Judith opened her mouth to argue, then knew it was useless. And Allie had some justice on her side. A generation that forgets its beliefs cannot pass them on. It was the depth of Allie’s emotion that startled her and made her a little afraid.

  Only after she had walked hunched against the wind and was back in Joseph’s bunker comparing her notes did she realize that Allie had said she was with Cavan working in the tent for the lying wounded at the same time that she had also said she was in the Resuscitation tent. And one of the orderlies had confirmed the second story.

  Why would Allie say that if it were not true? And why had Cavan confirmed it? She sat on the edge of the cot and read through it all again, some in her own hand, some in Joseph’s. Note by note, it was clear that Cavan and Allie were lying; the orderlies’ stories fit in with everything else. She could not believe that Cavan, of all people, was guilty, even if, according to several people, he had known Sarah and at times laughed and joked with her, and perhaps a little bit more. She was easy to like—if you did not witness her cruelty—and she asked for nothing in return. She was not seeking any kind of commitment. That’s what he had implied.

  Dreading the answers, Judith forced herself to find Cavan and ask him. He was in the Operating tent, and she had to wait. Finally he came out into the Resuscitation tent, his arms still bloody and his hair wet where he had dashed water over his face to keep himself awake. Judith felt guilty for bothering him, but Schenckendorff had to be saved, and Lizzie’s grief was far worse than any brief embarrassment Cavan might experience.

  Cavan smiled. He looked pleased to see her.

  “I’ve been talking to Allie,” she said straightaway.

  “She’s a good nurse,” he responded, but his attention was directed toward the man just brought in, who was not yet stirring from unconsciousness.

  She looked at Cavan and decided it was best to speak bluntly. “Why did you let Allie lie to protect you at the time Sarah was killed?”

  He stiffened and turned around slowly. His face was pale, and there was a very clear flare of anger in his heavy-lidded eyes. “Just who do you think you are, questioning people like this?” he said abruptly. “It’s none of your business, Judith. I put up with a certain amount when your brother was accused, but now it’s just some German, and you are overstepping yourself.”

  “Probably,” she said tartly, stung by his coldness. “If you prefer me to go and tell Jacobson, I can. Allie lied, and you didn’t say anything, so in effect you lied also. I understand lying. I do it myself to protect those I care for, especially if I believe absolutely in their innocence. But I won’t see an innocent man hanged, German or British or anything else. Either tell me or tell Jacobson. The choice is yours.”

  He was angry, very angry. She had not seen it in him before and it startled her, but she refused to back down.

  “Allie is protecting me,” he said icily. “I was exhausted and took a few minutes outside alone to collect myself. I didn’t say she lied because I was grateful, and I didn’t want to get her into trouble. I don’t know if your self-righteousness can understand that or have any pity.”

  The word pity struck a spark in her mind. Suddenly she understood something she should have seen before. Allie Robinson was in love with Cavan, and he did not feel the same for her. He knew it and was ashamed. Perhaps he had allowed her to misunderstand a word, a gesture, during long watches over the wounded or the dying. It was this guilt that made him so angry. This terrible need to not be alone, to reach out to some human comfort, was not the same as love, at least not love between a man and a woman. But the illusion of love could spring from it, and the aching, devouring hunger.

  “I see,” she said gently. “Yes, I understand. Thank you. Did anyone else know you were outside?”

  His look softened. Something else showed in his eyes for a moment, a warmth that flared and died almost before she recognized it. “Not so far as I know.”

  The night was drawing in. It was long past the equinox, and by late afternoon an autumn sun burned orange across the northwest. Veils of rain smudged gray, driving in hard and cold. Matthew, Joseph, and Judith sat on the two cots. Judith had told them what she had learned.

  Joseph chewed his lip. “So we have accounted for everyone except Cavan, Benbow, and Barshey Gee.”

  Judith was stunned. “Barshey Gee? Don’t be ridiculous, Joseph. Barshey wouldn’t do that to anyone.” She felt the blood burning up her face. She had lied to protect Wil Sloan, saying that she’d been working on her ambulance and he’d been there with her. Actually she had finished it early and gone to sit inside, out of the wind and rain. Barshey had brought her a mug of hot tea. She had watched him shorten the flame and wait until the water boiled. It had taken a long time. After that he had walked back to the ambulance with her and they had talked.

  “I don’t believe he did it, either,” Joseph said grimly. “But he lied, Judith.”

  “Did he?” The words stuck on her tongue. “What did he say?”

  “That he’d made you a mug of tea in the walking wounded tent, then gone out with you to your ambulance. He said Wil Sloan wasn’t there. You said he was, and you didn’t mention Barshey.”

  Matthew looked unhappy. “That’s a stupid lie, Joe. Why would Barshey say anything that could be disproved so easily? He had to know we’d all talk together. Why Judith? Any other V.A.D. we might not have believed, but to say it was her was idiotic!”

  Quick, ugly thoughts raced through Judith’s mind: memories of how frightened Wil had been, his words about men afraid of the violence within themselves, the rage that betrayed their control. No, that was nonsense! She knew Wil too well to allow that, even as overtired imagination.

  Joseph was staring at her. She had told others to tell the truth. She had despised Allie for lying to protect Cavan, and seen his pity and guilt for her.

  She lifted her eyes to meet Joseph’s. It had to be now. “Barshey didn’t lie. I did. I’m sorry.” She swallowed. “I wanted to protect Wil because I knew they would suspect him. He has a temper. Barshey made the tea inside, and then came out with me to the ambulance, just as he said.” She saw Joseph’s face. “I know! I’m sorry!” She was tangled in lies as if in the arms of an octopus. As soon as she freed herself from one she was gripped by another. Now she had had to betray Wil when she had said she would not.

  “And could it have been Wil?” Matthew said gravely. “This time the truth, please?”

  “We all have our debts, Matthew.” Joseph shook his head. “We can’t choose when they come due.” He touched Judith’s arm in a moment’s warmth, then leaned away again.

  “I suppose so,” Judith whispered.

  “So Cavan, Benbow, or Wil Sloan.” Joseph looked from one to the other of them questioningly.

  “Benbow,” Judith answered. “I refuse to believe it was Cavan or Wil. So do you. We’ve known them for four years. Cavan has saved more lives than any other doctor on this part of the front. He’d have had the V.C. if it weren’t for that idiot Northrup. Even then he put his man before himself and stayed behind to answer the charge.”

  “That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t rape a woman,” Matthew pointed out. “Of course it doesn’t!” Judith shouted at him, her voice rising in a kind of desperate denial. “But it was Benbow. It has to have been.”

  “Probably,” Joseph agreed. “But we haven’t proved it.”

  Matthew’s response was cut short by Mason banging on the makeshift lintel and pulling open the curtain.

  “Come in,” Joseph invited, although Mason was already down the first step. As he came into the full lamplight, they saw that his face was haggard, his wide mouth pulled into a tight line. He looked briefly from one to the other.

  “It’s a hell of a lot worse,” he said without waiting for any of them to speak. “Someone above Hook has ordered Jacobson off the case and put a military policeman in charge. Hook’s furious, but there’s nothing he can do. This bloke’s already arrived, fellow called Onslow. H
e’s ordered all investigation to cease; Schenckendorff is to be shipped out tomorrow after all. He doesn’t give a damn whether he’s medically fit or not.”

  “The case is not proved,” Matthew protested. “It’s only a charge; there’s far too little evidence to bring it to trial.”

  Judith looked at Joseph, and saw in his eyes that he was more accustomed to military police and the needs of war than his brother. There was no such hope in him, no trust of reason or law.

  “We can’t prove Schenckendorff is innocent,” he said, looking from Matthew to Judith. “That’s the only thing that would do now.”

  “There isn’t any proof!” Mason’s voice was tight with anger. “What a bloody irony!” He did not need to put it into words. They were all thinking the same thing. Blind chance, a chain of individual lies and debts, a military policeman ruled more by ambition than justice—and the Peacemaker had won again.

  “What have we been fighting for?” Joseph said softly. “If in the end we hang an innocent man for our convenience, to save us the trouble of finding the truth and the discomfort of facing an answer we don’t like? We could have saved the slaughter and simply surrendered in the first place.”

  Judith put her head in her hands and knew that she must go and speak to Lizzie. It would be a pain almost unendurable, but it was no longer possible for Lizzie to remain silent about her own rape.

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  Joseph spent a wretched night. It seemed that after all their efforts they were finally defeated. He had pleaded with Onslow, who was a lean, pale, hazel-eyed man with a fresh-clipped haircut. Onslow had listened with civility, then said he was sorry but the matter had dragged on too long. The crime was a hideous one, even by the standards of violence they had become tragically used to. Now at last they were looking forward to peace—it could come within days—and this matter must be settled. It was not only for the sake of justice, but for the men and women of this Casualty Clearing Station whose morale had suffered so profoundly.

  Nothing Joseph could say about injustice, lack of evidence, even the possibility of someone else being guilty had altered Onslow’s judgment in the slightest. Schenckendorff would be moved out sometime the following day, as soon as safe conduct could be arranged. He must be protected. For the sake of the men here, they must not be allowed to harm him. But his transportation would be early afternoon at the latest.

  Joseph had lain sleepless, knowing that Matthew was awake in the other bunk, but neither of them could think of anything more to suggest, so each sought sleep fitfully and with little success.

  In the morning Matthew went out early without saying what he intended to do, and Joseph wrote two condolence letters left over from the previous day. He had just finished them when there was a brief rap on the lintel. Without waiting for a reply, Lizzie came down the steps.

  She was hollow-eyed and bereft of color. His first thought was death—Stan Tidyman, who had lost his leg? Had the amputation been too much of a shock to a body already exhausted?

  “Who is it?” he said, offering her his chair and moving to sit on the bunk.

  “No one,” she replied, accepting the seat awkwardly, as if she would rather have remained standing. “That’s not why I’ve come.”

  “What is it?” What else could have happened? He had not had time to tell her about Schenckendorff last night. She had been on duty and busy with the wounded.

  In short, cutting words she told him, sparing herself no fact, however harsh. She did not once look up at him or offer any excuses or blame. It was simply an account of a sudden rape in which she was violated and left bruised in body and soul, hurting beyond anything she could have imagined, soiled forever. Something was damaged inside her that could never be repaired. And now she was carrying the man’s child, as if she had been fused with him in one terrible act, and a living person had been created so she could never forget. She had no idea who the rapist was. Still she did not look up or meet Joseph’s eyes.

  “It happened before Schenckendorff ever came through the lines,” she finished in a flat, tight voice. “He could not have been the one. I need to tell Onslow that, so he doesn’t charge him and take him away.”

  Joseph was so shattered that he felt as if he, too, had been attacked deep inside himself, scorched by filth he could never be rid of. He would rather they had done this to him than to her. He had no idea what to say or do that would ever reach her pain, let alone comfort it. He was overwhelmed, robbed of everything except the throbbing red wound of it. Even rage had not come yet. It would. He would want to kill the man, beat him senseless, then castrate him when he was conscious and aware of every movement of the knife.

  Would that help? Would it ease anything?

  Lizzie was waiting for him to look at her, to say something. He realized with shock that she was not certain he believed her. Incredibly, she was afraid he could think it was a lie constructed to cover some moral lapse of her own.

  What could he say? Words were so clumsy, inadequate to express any of the desperate emotion inside him. She needed to be believed. She could hardly care now that he loved her. The thought that the creature who had murdered Sarah Price had also been violently intimate with Lizzie, leaving his seed inside to grow and become her child, left him seared with horror. But he must think of her, not himself.

  “Joseph?” Her voice was shaking. The terror in her was so consuming, he could feel it in the room. “Will you come with me to Onslow?”

  He must say something, the right thing. There was only this one chance; he could never take back a mistake. He reached out and touched the tips of her fingers with his own. It was the lightest possible brush of skin on skin.

  “We’ll find another way to clear Schenckendorff…,” he began, and knew immediately that it was not true. There was no more time.

  She shook her head, a tiny movement as if her muscles were locked. “I’ve waited as long as I can. I have to do it. You know it’s right. Don’t make it harder. I just had to tell you myself before I did it.” She stood up; then her body swayed for a moment until she regained her balance. “I couldn’t live with anything else, and neither could you.” She turned very slowly and walked to the door.

  Joseph was too late to stand up, but he was not sure that his legs would hold him anyway. He knew she was right; Schenckendorff had come through the lines to surrender himself and betray the Peacemaker, with all that that cost him, because his honor demanded it. If she allowed him to hang for a crime she knew he had not committed, it would poison the rest of her life—and Joseph’s, too, if he colluded in such an act of cowardice.

  And yet every part of him wanted to protect her. His mind screamed at him to find another way, any way, but not this. Please God, let there be something else they could do! But even as he prayed he knew there was not, and he was wasting time protesting while he allowed her to go to Onslow alone. He should be with her, beside her. What it cost him was irrelevant.

  He stood up and parted the sacking, climbing the steps, his legs as heavy as if he were struggling through the thick mud of no-man’s-land. He went outside and followed after her, knowing which way she would have gone. He caught up with her as she opened the door to the hut where Onslow had made his office, and they went in together.

  Onslow was sitting behind a table with half a dozen sheets of paper on it. He looked surprised to see them, and somewhat irritated. He addressed Joseph first. “Yes, Chaplain. Please don’t waste your time and mine asking me to delay charging the German, or with any more theories as to who else could be guilty. You are not serving your men, or your regiment’s honor.”

  “Sir—” Joseph began.

  “We need this wretched business to be over and put as far from our minds as possible,” Onslow said tartly, cutting across him, his hand up as if to silence him physically. “You should write to the poor girl’s family, if you have not done so already, then turn your attention to the living. There are more than enough wounded who need your help
…your undivided help, Captain Reavley.” He still had done no more than glance at Lizzie.

  Now she stepped forward. Joseph could see something of what it cost her to stand so stiffly to attention, shoulders squared.

  “Captain Reavley came only to support me in what I have to tell you, Major Onslow,” she said clearly. “He knew nothing of it until I felt obliged to inform him just now.”

  Onslow drew in his breath to interrupt her also, but something in her face and bearing stopped him. He made an attempt at patience, but it was brief.

  Lizzie plunged on. “Unfortunately Sarah Price was not the only woman to be assaulted. There was an earlier rape, extremely unpleasant, but very much less violent—”

  This time he did interrupt. “Nothing was reported, Miss—”

  “Mrs. Blaine,” she said. “I know it was not reported.” Her voice dipped.

  Joseph ached to be able to say it for her, explain, force Onslow to understand, but he knew he must not. It would rob Lizzie of the only dignity or control she had in the matter. He stood rigidly, his hands by his sides, clenched so his nails dug into his palms. The silence in the tent was oppressive, the air stale.

  “It is very…difficult to report such a thing.” Lizzie’s voice sank despite her will to keep it strong.

  Onslow’s face darkened with anger. “Mrs. Blaine, rape is a very serious crime! Not to report it is completely irresponsible. I am very sorry that such a thing should have happened, and if you tell me who the woman is, we shall add that to the charge.” He jerked his hands, as if freeing himself from some restraint. “Although of course I cannot unless the victim herself tells me. Please point out to her that it is her duty, and perhaps if she had had the courage to come forward at the time, we might have caught the man then, and Sarah Price would still be alive.”