Whoever he was, how could he have known when he wrote that glowing letter to Julia that Major Carson was dead, unless he had had something to do with whatever had happened? Why else would he have written it, except to allay worry at home? It had sounded genuine enough, compassionate, sympathetic. And of course it had had to sound that way, in order not to arouse suspicion. After all, Julia Carson had the regiment behind her, and my father, once its Colonel, as well. If the Major simply disappeared, questions would be raised.
And then there were the men under the Major. What had they been told?
I was to have my answer to that a few days later.
We had been busy all morning and well into the afternoon. Then there were a few blessed minutes of grace, and I went to my quarters to change my bloody apron for a fresh one when a woman’s voice called my name. I turned to see Diana hurrying toward me.
Because our own homes were scattered across England, four other nurses and I had taken a flat together in Mrs. Hennessey’s London house, converted to flats for the duration of the war. A widow, Mrs. Hennessey was strict with her young ladies, and it was a comfort to know that we were in good hands when one of us arrived late at night, tired and thankful not to have to find an hotel or face a longer journey elsewhere when we had scarcely twenty-four hours of leave.
Diana threw her arms around me, crying, “I can’t believe it’s you! Bess? We were so worried. When your mother wrote to say you were recovering, I was afraid to open the letter for two days.” She scanned my face. “Still a little tired, I see. I was afraid you might come back too soon.”
I held her at arm’s length. “You’re absolutely blooming yourself.”
She blushed a little. “Bess, wish me happy! I’ll be married this time next year. I wasn’t sure you’d seen the announcement in the Times.”
“But that’s tremendous news. I wish you both a glorious life together. You deserve it.”
“Thank you. I’m so grateful you didn’t want him for yourself. You could have had him, you know.”
I laughed. “Diana. The instant he saw you, I was forgotten. Love at first sight, if ever I witnessed such a thing. And how are the others? Mrs. Hennessey?”
“She is flourishing, Mary is back in France after her bout with influenza, and the others are due for leave any day now.”
“I’m so glad.”
“Your family? My dearest Simon?”
It was a long-standing joke between us. Simon sometimes took her to dinner when I wasn’t in London, and Diana swore he did it to make me jealous. And I could see that she thoroughly enjoyed those invitations. Perhaps more so than she had been willing to admit until another man had come into her life. “They’re well, thank goodness.” I hoped it was true in Simon’s case. I was still waiting for word.
We exchanged news of other friends, and then Diana said, “Wasn’t Major Carson in your father’s regiment?”
Surprised to hear her bring up his name, I replied warily, “Yes, indeed. In fact, I called on Julia Carson, just before I returned to France.”
“What I’m about to tell you won’t be for her ears, but the Colonel might wish to know. There’s a whisper going around. That he’s deserted.”
She was using the present tense. As if she hadn’t heard that Vincent Carson was dead. My shock must have been reflected in my face. “I-I can’t imagine such a thing. Major Carson? No, there must be some mistake…” I let my voice trail off, encouraging her to go on.
“The story I overheard was that he was pulled from his sector for a special assignment and never made his rendezvous.”
“Good heavens.” It was all I could think to say. Collecting my wits, I added, “He-he’s such a very conscientious man. There’s even talk that one day he’ll follow my father as Colonel. I can’t think what would cause him to desert.”
“Yes, well, you know how gossip is. The only thing I could think of was shell shock, and that he has no idea who or where he is. I met him at that dinner party your mother gave just after war was declared. If he hadn’t already been married to Julia, I’d have set my cap at him.”
“The two of you would never suit,” I said drily, grateful she’d changed the subject.
“True. Well, I must drive an ambulance to Rouen. The man who should be doing it collapsed two hours ago. Pneumonia. And then I have ten days’ leave. I could fly to Dover at the very thought.”
I said quickly, “Could you carry a message for me? If I was quick about it? I don’t want it going through the censors.”
“A love letter? Bess, who is the lucky man? I’d heard there was an Australian in your life. Is he history now?”
“This is to Simon. I have to get information to him and have been racking my brain to find a way.”
“I have less than two minutes.”
“Yes, of course.” I ran to my quarters, scrabbled in my valise for pen and paper and an envelope, then scribbled what Diana had told me on the sheet. There was no time to reread it. I sealed it in the envelope and wrote the direction on it, praying that he would be at his cottage to receive it. If he wasn’t, my parents always collected his post in his absences, so that no one would realize he was away so often.
Breathless, I hurried back to Diana, gave her the letter, and watched her drive off with her usual care for the patients in the back, one of them the regular driver.
Quickly changing, I went back to my duties, regretting only that Diana and I had had so little time together. I’d have liked to hear more about her wedding plans and remind her that I would like to be included in the wedding party.
I was dazed with fatigue when I finished my shift, and collapsed on my cot, falling into a deep sleep.
Toward morning I dreamed that I had gone into the shed where the dead were taken to look for Major Carson, anxious to find his body before the charge of desertion was brought against him. Certain that if I could show his broken neck to his commanding officer, I could clear his name. But what I found instead was Private Wilson hanging there, his body already limp in death, his face gorged with blood, making him nearly unrecognizable. I’d had to peer at him, and as the corpse swung at the end of the rope, his hand touched me and I screamed.
Sister Colter said, “Really, Bess, you told me to wake you at six.”
I came awake with a start, looking up at her. “I’m so sorry,” I managed to say. “I must not have heard you calling me.”
“You were so deeply asleep you wouldn’t have heard a cavalry charge,” she agreed, and was gone, leaving me to wash my face and put on my uniform.
I was still shaken by the dream as I gulped a cup of tea, then hurried to deal with the line of men waiting for attention.
There was still no response from Simon by the end of the week, and I wasn’t sure where he was. A letter had come from my mother, letting me know that everyone was well, and there had been no mention of Simon being away so long. Either he was at home and safe, or she was being circumspect.
And then the next morning as I walked into the surgical tent, I saw his tall figure just ahead of me.
Simon was making his way down the row of severely wounded men, stopping at each cot, speaking quietly to the men who were conscious, simply looking down at the ones who were not. When he reached the end of the line, he turned back and saw me.
According to my mother, both Simon and my father visited the wounded often, and without fanfare, wherever they happened to be.
There was something about both men that made them popular wherever they went, and their compassion for the ill and the dying was infinite. They had been soldiers with impressive records themselves, but it went beyond that. War seemed to forge a brotherhood that made someone like Captain Barclay claim he was healing even when it was a lie. Even when he knew that going back to France might well end in his own death.