“Yes, he must be. He told one of my men that his ancestors had shown us a thing or two at Yorktown, and he was ready to have another go at it himself.”
It was my turn to laugh. But what was I to tell Captain Garrison? I decided on the truth. Well, part of it.
“We were both assigned to Ypres. But something went wrong with our transport, and I spent the night in a convent I knew of in Rouen. On his way back to the hotel where he was staying, Barclay was picked up for not having the proper papers. I tried to explain the situation to the harbor police with no luck, and when I went to the Base Hospital in the hope of finding pen and paper to write to my father, a nurse there decided I looked disreputable enough to have been up to something nefarious, and she sent me back to England. I begged her to let my betrayer be punished as well, and I expect that’s why he’s in irons below.”
“You were deucedly lucky this was my ship. There are letters in my safe that must be meant for the Inquisition. I was told under pain of death not to open them but to hand them over along with you when I reached Portsmouth.”
“Yes, well, I do understand in part. There’s always the fear of spies in a place like Rouen. You’ve got people coming and going in every direction, speaking I don’t know how many languages, and there are warnings everywhere to report any suspicious activity. I doubt Nurse Bailey has been in France very long. She put the worst possible interpretation on the situation. I’d have done the same in her shoes.”
“No, you wouldn’t have,” he said. “You’d have got to the bottom of it. Wait here, I ought to let your American out of the brig before he thinks of a way to scuttle the ship. I’ve enough on my hands with the Germans.”
With that he was gone, and it was some time before he reappeared. “I’ve offered Barclay my cabin to clean himself up a bit. He was all right once he knew you were safe. I need to go to the bridge and keep an eye on things.” He reached into his pocket and took out two letters. “I’ll leave these with you.” He hesitated. “Barclay strikes me more as an officer than an orderly.”
“He is. He was so eager to get back to France he was willing to take any position available. I think his doctor back in Somerset was trying to teach him a lesson, that his wounds haven’t healed sufficiently to return to his regiment. A little humble pie, as it were.”
Nodding, he went on his way. I folded my arms on the makeshift desk, put my head down on my arms, and went to sleep.
I’d consider what to do once we approached Portsmouth Roads.
I must have slept soundly. It was the rumble of the anchor cable feeding out that brought me awake, startled and confused. I tried to make myself presentable and settled my cap on my hair. My valise was by the cabin door. But I stayed where I was. It was one thing to be treated as a guest by Captain Garrison and quite another to appear on deck prematurely and place him in an awkward situation.
I could hear the wounded being carried off the ship, and then the tramp of many feet as the next contingent of troops came aboard.
Finally there was a tap at my door and Captain Garrison was there. “All clear,” he told me. “I think it’s safe enough to go ashore. There was no welcoming committee out there, and my officers won’t talk. I’ve procured passes out of the port for you as well. I’m afraid after that, my authority stops.”
“You’ve been more than kind,” I told him warmly. “I don’t know how to thank you for all you’ve done.”
He brushed that aside. “I’ll look forward to seeing you on another voyage, this time not under duress.”
We walked together to the deck, where I saw Barclay, looking far more himself now, waiting for me. Without a word we disembarked and made our way along the docks to the gates. The Captain was several steps behind me, as was proper, but once we were in the town itself, he caught me up.
“Do you know everyone in Christendom, Bess Crawford?” he asked, a repressed note of disapproval in his voice.
“You forget,” I said. “Since Britannic, I must have made the journey to France and back half a hundred times. It would be strange if I didn’t know most of the ships’ officers. Which makes it all the worse when they go missing. The First Officer is new, replacing a man who lost his leg during the winter. And the Third Officer is new as well. His ship was sunk on convoy duty and he’s learning the run to France-”
I broke off, watching a motorcar coming toward us. I stopped stock-still as I recognized it.
“What is it?” Captain Barclay asked, tensing.
But by that time it was near enough for him to recognize the driver. My father.
As he greeted us I asked, “How did you know I was coming in?”
“I was having dinner with the Port Captain when you arrived. Captain Garrison sent a signal. He didn’t specify my daughter was on board, but he did say wounded and nurses. Not sisters. And a signal never includes hospital staff-it’s assumed they’re aboard with the wounded. I thought I ought to have a look. But we hadn’t finished our Port, and Mackenzie insisted that I stay until it had been round once.”
Then he turned to greet Captain Barclay, making no remark about the torn uniform or the scrapes and cuts on his face, not to mention his knuckles.
“Thank you for bringing her home safely,” he said.
Captain Barclay grimaced. “Not without difficulty.”
The Colonel Sahib ushered us into the motorcar, and we said very little as we drove through the narrow, twisting streets toward the main road north through Hampshire. Clear of the city, we picked up the first showers of rain. My father settled to a steady speed and then nodded to me to begin my account of events, interrupted from time to time by the Captain. As I spoke, he listened with a grim expression clearly visible even in the cloudy darkness.
“Good God!” he said when I had given him all the details. “I’ll see what I can do to set this business to rights. I think it might be best if Barclay the orderly simply disappeared, and Captain Barclay returned to the clinic for further treatment of his troublesome wound after his brief furlough to London.”
Captain Barclay opened his mouth to argue, thought better of it, and said only, “Thank you, sir.”
“I’m afraid my reputation can’t be repaired quite so easily,” I said ruefully.
“Perhaps Nurse Bailey can be thanked for helping you smuggle one of our spies safely out of France and back into England.”
“I think,” I said, considering the suggestion, “she might be happier if I had helped capture a notorious German spy.”
“God help us if that got back to the wrong ears. No, we’ll offer our sincerest gratitude to both of you for unspecified services to the Crown.”
I wanted to ask the Colonel Sahib if he thought I was safe now. But I was reluctant to broach the subject so soon. And how was I to get back to France until this whole business was settled? It was a dilemma.
As the rain turned into a downpour shortly after we’d crossed into Somerset, we stopped briefly for a late supper until it blew over.
My father had said nothing about Simon, and I had been afraid to ask, for fear he was not healing as he should. It was one of the drawbacks to being a nurse. I knew too much about wounds and a man’s chances of survival. Finally I took my courage in my hands and said, “Is Simon all right?”
“A deucedly poor patient. Your mother has had her hands full.” And that was all he would say.
The conversation turned to Major Carson, and I asked my father if he’d ever met William Morton.
“Actually I haven’t. He and Sabrina eloped, and after that her father never spoke to her again. I thought that rather harsh. It left her with nowhere to turn in the event she was ever unhappy. And so, as far as I know, she has stayed with her actor.”
“A pity.” I took a deep breath. “Julia told me that in one of his last letters, her husband was angry with someone in his company but didn’t mention a name because of the censors. But soon afterward the offending soldier was sent to another sector. Do you think that soldier could have been William Morton? It’s a pity we don’t have the journal the Major kept. It might give us some answers.”