A Casualty of War: A Bess Crawford Mystery (Bess Crawford Mysteries)

by Charles Todd

  “Over here.”

  It was Dr. Harrison’s voice, sharp and worried. It was coming from the corner of the house, and I started in that direction, but Simon caught my arm, pulled me back, and went on ahead.

  By the time I reached the corner, Simon was already coming back, moving quickly toward his motorcar. I could see Dr. Harrison kneeling beside someone in a dark coat lying on the ground. I hurried to him, kneeling in my turn as Simon returned with his torch.

  But it wasn’t Alan Travis. It was Miss Fredericks. I recognized her fair hair, just visible beneath a scarf wrapped round her head. When Simon turned on his torch, we could see that her face was a bloody mask. Dr. Harrison lifted the end of the scarf and used it to wipe away some of the blood. He swore under his breath as he saw the wound. “And she’s very cold,” he added. “She’s been out here for some time.”

  She had been struck hard across the side of the face. He began to look her over, searching for other signs of injury. I watched. He shook his head finally. “I can’t tell here.”

  The other two men were standing a little distance away, and I could hear Mr. Ellis saying, “That’s not Travis. But who is she? What’s happened to her?”

  I reached for a handkerchief to clean her face, but the doctor pushed my hand away. “No, into my carriage with her. I’ll take her to the surgery.”

  “Her family—” I began.

  He turned to Mr. Ellis and said, “Go inside, if you please, and find the staff. Tell them it’s Fredericks’s girl, and ask them to send for him. Tell him where she’ll be.”

  Lieutenant Bonham said quickly, “It would be best to take her up to a room in the house. Jolting her all the way back to the village—”

  Simon cut across his objection. “My motorcar is here. Sister Crawford will drive, Doctor, and you can sit in the rear with Miss Fredericks, to see that she’s shielded from the worst of the ruts. I’ll bring your carriage.”

  “Yes, good man. Thank you. Hurry, Ellis, see that her father is told before he hears this from someone else.”

  “But what does she have to do with Travis?” It was Lieutenant Bonham.

  “Not now,” Dr. Harrison answered him curtly.

  Between the doctor and the two men, we got her into the rear of Simon’s motorcar, wrapped in a rug, and Dr. Harrison ensconced beside her. I climbed behind the wheel, and Simon went to turn the crank.

  Ellis was gone; I hadn’t seen him leave. Lieutenant Bonham shut the door for the doctor and stood back. “He’ll want to know. Her father. Will she be all right?”

  “It’s too soon to say. But for God’s sake, don’t tell him that and frighten him half to death. Just send him to me.”

  I was already reversing, heading back toward the village.

  Dr. Harrison said warily, “Are you certain you can manage this thing?”

  “I’ve driven larger vehicles than this. In France,” I added, because that would make him happier. He didn’t need to hear that I had my own motorcar.

  He was silent for a time. Then he said, “It appears to me that she’s been struck hard across the face, at least twice. If I didn’t know better, I’d guess it was a revolver.”

  “Yes, I saw that,” I answered, my eyes on the road.

  Miss Fredericks began to moan a little.

  “It’s all right, Lucy. You’re safe now,” the doctor murmured, showing a gentle side I hadn’t seen before. “Hold on just a little longer.”

  We were coming into the village. I’d driven as sedately as I could, but with speed, thinking all the while that whoever did this was little short of a monster. She must have got in the way. And that meant she was surely still in danger.

  Turning into the lane running up by the church, I saw lights on in the Vicarage. We reached the surgery, and I pulled as close to the door as I could.

  Between us we got Lucy Fredericks out of the motorcar, and Dr. Harrison himself carried her inside.

  I expected him to send me away now, but he said gruffly, “My assistant has gone home for the night. If you’ll lend a hand?”

  I opened the door to the room where Mr. Spencer had been taken—and had been killed—but Dr. Harrison said, “Not that one. Over there.” And I changed direction.

  We got her undressed and covered with a sheet. There was a darkening bruise on her stomach as well. Dr. Harrison, his face grim, worked carefully, examining her. I watched, thinking that she was only a few years younger than I was, but she had seen much less of the cruelty of life. She would find this beating as difficult to understand as Mrs. Travis had with the wound on her arm and the violation of her house.

  “Vicious,” he said once, and then went on with his examination. Lucy was beginning to regain consciousness, whimpering a little, and then she opened her eyes, struggling wildly before she realized who was standing over her.

  She began to weep. I moved forward to take her hands. “It’s all right, Lucy,” I said gently. “You’re safe. Dr. Harrison is here. You’re going to be all right.”

  She clung to me. “I want my father,” she pleaded. “Please, will you find him?”

  “He’s on his way,” Dr. Harrison said. “Who did this to you, my dear? Did he kick you?”

  There was fear in her eyes now. Her grip was hurting my hand. “Yes,” she whispered. “Before I fainted. I thought he was going to kill me.”

  “Did you see him?” I asked. “Do you know who it was?”

  But she shook her head a little. “It was dark.”

  “What was he wearing? A uniform?” Dr. Harrison asked, glancing up at me.

  I steeled myself for her answer, but she said, almost in a whisper, “I don’t know.”

  Relieved, for the only man in uniform they would blame would be Captain Travis, I asked, “Did he say anything to you?”

  “I don’t remember. I don’t think so.”

  “Let’s find you a nightgown before your father arrives,” Dr. Harrison said. “But I want you to stay here tonight. I’ll need to keep an eye on you.” He was still examining the cuts on her face. But I knew what he must be thinking—that she would be safer here.

  “Sister Potter could stay with her, don’t you think?” I suggested. One didn’t tell a doctor what to do.

  He said, “Yes, when the Sergeant-Major comes, we’ll send him across.”

  Two minutes later, Simon arrived, and was sent on his errand.

  “Is she all right?” he asked me quietly as he turned to go.

  “It was a brutal attack. He struck her twice in the face, then kicked her when she went down.”

  “Did she see him?”

  “Sadly, no.”

  He turned away, but not before I heard him swear under his breath as he set out at a trot across the green.

  I knew precisely how he felt.

  Back in the room where Lucy Fredericks lay, I saw that Dr. Harrison had covered her with a blanket and turned down the lamp. She jumped when I spoke, before she knew who was there.

  “Was that my father?” she asked. “I heard voices.”

  “He’s on his way. It was the Sergeant-Major, asking how you were.” I didn’t know where Dr. Harrison was, but it was likely that he was seeing to his carriage. And so I said, “Are you sure you didn’t see who it was? Even if he came at you out of the dark, you must have seen something?”

  “I’m afraid,” she said, taking my hand again. “I don’t—what if I’m wrong?”

  Then she did know who had struck her.

  “Don’t tell anyone,” I whispered. “Not even your father. He’ll be angry, he’ll want to hurt whoever it was. Wait until you’re sure.”

  She nodded. The aftermath of shock was setting in now, and she lay there with her eyes closed.

  I heard voices again, and then Dr. Harrison was speaking to someone. I expected it was Simon with Sister Potter, although it was too soon.

  The door to the little room opened, and a bear of a man rushed in. I recognized him as Mrs. Travis’s driver. Lucy held out her arms t
o him, crying, “Papa.”

  She might be close on twenty, but just now she was a little girl again, wanting the one adult in her life she truly trusted.

  I slipped out and went to wait for Simon and Sister Potter. Behind me, I heard a roar from the examining room, and I knew that Dr. Harrison had begun to describe his patient’s injuries.

  Mr. Fredericks was large enough and mad enough to do something rash, and I hoped that Lucy had remembered not to tell him everything.

  Five minutes later, Simon arrived with Sister Potter, and I could see that he’d told her what had happened. Her face was somber, and she greeted me with a nod. “Does she remember anything helpful?”

  “I think she’s still in shock,” I said. “And more than a little frightened. Her father is with her. But it may come clearer after a while, when she’s calmed down.”

  We could hear Mr. Fredericks’s deep voice, angry and frustrated.

  Sister Potter said, “I’d best go in.”

  “I’ll leave. He doesn’t know me. But I’ll be at The George. Close by if you need me.”

  “Good.”

  I collected my coat from the tree by the door and went out to where Simon had waited.

  “I heard you say her father is here? Then I think it’s best if we go.”

  “Yes. But not to The George. Not yet. I’d like to stop in the Vicarage.”

  “It’s late.”

  “The lights are on. Someone is awake.”

  We drove there, and I went up to the door. Mrs. Caldwell opened it almost at once, as if she’d been expecting someone. She saw who it was, put her finger to her lips, and opened the door wider.

  We stepped inside a very Victorian entry, dark and old-fashioned. I didn’t think anything had been changed here since Queen Victoria sat on the throne.

  She took us into the front parlor and shut the door.

  “My husband has gone up to bed.”

  I gave her a brief account of what had happened tonight, and she shook her head.

  “Poor girl. I’ll go over later and see if there is anything I can do. Sister Potter might wish for a cup of tea. Is Mrs. Travis all right? Should I wake Michael and ask him to go out to her?”

  “She’s sleeping. Dr. Harrison gave her a very strong sedative.”

  “But who is this officer who came to call on her? Do you have any idea?”

  “Only what we’ve been told. Simon thinks he might be the man who shot at Captain Travis in France. But we can’t find any reason for it.”

  She looked away, then said slowly, “Captain Travis was here earlier tonight. The police didn’t find him, thank God. And Michael was in his study, working on his sermon. He had no idea. Alan—Captain Travis—wanted me to tell him about James. He wanted to know.” Her voice was a little husky. “He asked about Nigel too. What sort of child he was. I refuse to believe that man killed anyone.”

  But in the eyes of the police, he had an excellent motive. Because once Mrs. Travis was dead, the way was clear for him to inherit The Hall. After all, no one had seen him pull the trigger, and if he could count on Mrs. Caldwell to give him an alibi, there was nothing Inspector Howe could do.

  Why had he lost his nerve and run? they would ask. Running was surely proof of guilt. What had gone wrong? Miss Fredericks in his way, a witness?

  “Simon and I have learned that Mr. Spencer had had death threats from another inquiry he’d conducted in London. His death might not have had anything to do with Captain Travis.” I hesitated. “It’s also possible he broke into the solicitor’s office and saw something there that he shouldn’t have. Perhaps that’s why he was killed.”

  “I can’t believe that either. I mean to say, who among Mr. Ellis’s clients has secrets someone would kill to conceal? This is Suffolk, not the back streets of London. I found Mr. Ellis willing to work with me to free the Captain. He never mentioned a break-in. Surely he would be the first to know if something compromising was stolen. He’d have warned his client and told the police.”

  “Perhaps it wasn’t stolen. But someone might have been afraid it had been seen and made certain Mr. Spencer never did anything about it.”

  “But how would anyone connect that with Mr. Spencer? The police must not have identified the person who broke in. They’ve said nothing about that.”

  I remembered suddenly what I’d seen the night Mr. Spencer was killed. A figure slipping among the barren trees on the green, keeping to the shadows. I’d assumed that was Mr. Spencer, trying to leave the doctor’s surgery, and later came to believe it was Captain Travis instead, because I’d stumbled over him in the churchyard. I was certain he’d made it there while I was circling around The George, to be less conspicuous as I went to find out what Mr. Spencer was up to.

  What if the first figure I’d seen hadn’t been Captain Travis, but the killer?

  I said, “Where is Captain Travis now?”

  She looked away. “I smuggled him out while the police were here asking Michael if we’d seen him. I came in as Michael was talking to that Inspector Howe, and I offered to let them search the premises. But they believed Michael, and didn’t bother. I don’t know where Alan—the Captain went from here.”

  “But how long was he here?”

  And she told me.

  I calculated the timing, when Mrs. Travis was shot, and when the Captain was at the Vicarage. But I couldn’t be sure—it was just possible—barely—he’d gone to The Hall first.

  And then I caught an expression in Vera Caldwell’s eyes that I hadn’t seen before. She had lost Nigel. She had lost James. And into the void of loss had come Alan Travis, who was close to the same age.

  I wondered if she would lie to protect him. No one had seen him here. There was only her word that he had come at all.

  The next thought was so stunning it made me turn toward Simon, so that the woman in front of me couldn’t read my eyes.

  Would Vera Caldwell also kill for Alan Travis? So that he would inherit The Hall and stay in Suffolk where she could watch him through the years, as she’d watched James grow up? Had she gone to The Hall while her husband was in his study, working on his sermon? She could have known about that revolver at The George.

  I realized I was tired and not thinking rationally. She was the Vicar’s wife, and however much she wanted Nigel back, if she had come to know the Captain at all, she would realize that he wanted to go home. Back to Barbados and that house with the wide, cool veranda.

  Simon, who had been silent, took my glance his way as a signal, and said, “Your father is still at The George, Bess. If he and the Major are leaving for London tonight, they should start soon.”

  I smiled gratefully, and turned again to Mrs. Caldwell. “Yes, and we don’t want to disturb the Vicar.”

  She let us out, but at the door, a silhouette against the lamplight behind her, she said, “You’ll let me know?”

  I promised, and then we were walking across to the churchyard.

  Simon put a hand on my arm. “We should look in the church.”

  “But surely the police went there.”

  “Still.”

  And so we crossed the churchyard, wary of the footstones that we could just barely see, and went to the south porch.

  I was sure the screech of the door would wake the living if not the dead, it sounded so loud to my ears, but I led the way inside.

  The cold struck me, and then the silence. Almost at once it was broken, as the bells over our head struck the hour.

  As the echoes died away, I heard something, a scraping sound, hollow and distant. And yet looking around the nave, I couldn’t see anyone. I walked as quietly as I could down the aisle toward the pulpit and the altar. Over my head, the dark barrel vaulting of the ceiling high above me seemed to echo each step.

  We searched the nave, the aisles, the choir, the altar, behind the only two tombs the church held, and found nothing.

  “I was certain he must be hiding here.” Simon looked around him. “I thought after talk
ing to Mrs. Caldwell, Travis might have come back to see the brass plaque to James Travis.”

  With a sigh I said, “For all we know, he might be at The George. With the Colonel Sahib.”

  “Then let’s go back.”

  But as we walked to the motorcar, Simon warned, “Bess, if we can get Travis clear of this and to the clinic in Surrey that Major Davison recommends, we’ll be well out of it. Leave Spencer’s murder to the local police. And Ellis as well. The solicitor is too well known for anyone to believe he’s somehow involved.”

  “I know. I know.” I looked out at the cottages, many of them already dark. “You don’t suppose the Captain is hiding at Sister Potter’s?”

  “I don’t think so. She told me Constable Simpson had looked under her bed and behind the wardrobe.”

  I smiled in spite of myself at the picture that evoked. “Simon,” I said, suddenly, “where is Inspector Howe? He went out to look at the estate cottages, and even with all the noise as we worked with Miss Fredericks, he never appeared.”

  “He may have been inside one of the cottages.”

  At The George, Simon stopped to speak to the owner and I went up to my room. My father was pacing the floor, caught in midstride as I opened the door.

  “I was worried,” he said.

  I saw a figure lying on my bed, his back to me, and for an instant I thought it must be the Captain. But it was the Major, sound asleep.

  Lowering my voice, I told the Colonel Sahib about events at The Hall.

  “Good God,” he said, and turned quickly as the door opened again and Simon stepped in.

  “He’s not in my room.”

  “Then where the devil is he?” my father demanded. “We need to find him before Inspector Howe does.”

  “He knew the police were searching for him. They came while he was at the Vicarage. If he had nothing to do with the shooting of Mrs. Travis, he knows he can’t prove it. He might have gone to The Swan in Clare, hoping we’ll remember and look for him there.”

  “He will still be a fugitive,” the Colonel Sahib pointed out.

  We stood there, unable to argue with his logic.