“No,” said Edith curtly. “It’s him.”
“Who?”
She found herself shaking, not with fear, but with anger. It was a fuse lit by the invitation to a private party, fuelled by the murder of her friends and her survivor’s guilt, burning through the years of torment and horror on the Front. Unable to contain it any longer she felt it detonate deep within her. Edith broke away from Nellie’s grip and strode belligerently towards Jeffries, with no thought for consequences. No thought but for this one remaining moment of reckoning.
“You!”
Jeffries turned towards her, nonplussed. “Me, Nurse?”
“I know who you are!” her voice quavered, barely able to keep the fury under control.
Jeffries smiled wanly at the men near him, who looked confused.
“Yes, dear and so do all these men here. Sister Fenton, if you wouldn’t mind, I think one of your charges is becoming a trifle hysterical. It must be the shock, poor thing, hmm?”
Sister Fenton steamed in to cut across Edith’s bows. “Nurse Bell, that will be enough!”
Edith balled her hands into fists, her knuckles whitening.
“Enough!” bawled the Sister, grabbing her wrists. “Do you hear? Desist from this foolishness.”
But it wasn’t enough for her. Not by a long chalk. Edith windmilled her arms trying to break Sister Fenton’s grip, but she held her fast. Edith fell into Fenton and glared over her shoulder at Jeffries, whose mouth slid into an insincere smile as he stared not at her, but through her as if she wasn’t there. As if she was inconsequential. Well she may well be, but her words weren’t.
“I know who you are!” she cried. “His name isn’t Jeffries.”
“Bell, be quiet!” said Fenton. “Abbott. Help me!”
However, nothing could still her now.
“His name’s not Jeffries at all,” she cried. “It’s Dwyer. Dwyer the Debutante Killer, Fredrick Dwyer, the Diabolist who calls himself The Great Snake. And snake he is,” she spat. “Murderer!”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
RESTRAINED BY HER companions, Edith began to yell hysterically. The men glanced at each other, uncertain of how to react. However, Edith was oblivious to it all. She was focused on one man, the man who was the ruin of her life, the man whose very existence and proximity filled her with such a righteous indignation that, against all social decorum, she could no longer contain it. That he, of all people, should be here, hale and hearty, having perversely survived all the indignities that the war could heap upon him, when her dear friends had been cruelly dispatched for his heretical sport.
“You filthy murderer,” she cried, spitting a gob of saliva in his direction. It fell short but the gesture shocked those watching.
Jeffries smiled and casually picked lint off his lapel.
“Bell. Stop this,” said Sister Fenton. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
Edith struggled to face the men gathered round, confused and unsure. “Please, you must believe me. That man there is Fredrick Dwyer. He’s wanted for murder.”
She heard the muttering of dissent ripple through the soldiers. She knew from the tales she’d heard that he was considered a snob and a martinet. Many men hated his guts, and more than one had a bone to pick with him.
Several men hesitantly pushed their way forward and, exchanging looks, seized Jeffries by the arms.
“Is this true, sir?” asked a Lance Corporal.
“No, of course it isn’t, you bloody cretin, she’s a hysterical woman,” snapped Jeffries. “You’re making a big mistake, hmm? Technically, you could both be up on a charge for assaulting an officer. You don’t want to add disobeying a direct order to the charge sheet, do you? Apart from which you’re messing up my uniform. Unhand me. Now.”
Napoo looked from Edith to Jeffries as if trying to weigh their claims.
Captain Grantham glanced at Edith Bell, shaking his head.
Edith tore herself away from Sister Fenton and collapsed into Nellie Abbott’s arms, sobbing into her shoulder at the unfairness of it all.
“Let him go,” Grantham said to the soldiers restraining Jeffries. The men shuffled uneasily. “I shan’t ask again.”
The two soldiers glanced at each other uncertainly and then, almost apologetically, at Edith herself.
“No!” she cried as they reluctantly let go and stepped away, shamefaced. “No.” Barely more than a whisper now, defeated.
Jeffries smoothed out the sleeves of his tunic, gave his cuffs a cursory tug and nodded his head in acknowledgment to Grantham, who turned to Edith.
“Young lady, this is very serious accusation. The inquest jury found Fredrick Dwyer guilty of the ‘wilful murder’ of those two girls in his absence. The vermin is still on the run, an absolute coward. Are you seriously suggesting that Lieutenant Jeffries here — who I have personally seen exhibit such bravery as defies description; a man who has been mentioned in dispatches — is nothing more than a common murderer?”
There was a derisive snort from somewhere among the soldiers. Grantham stared hard at them, his glare sweeping like a searchlight, seeking out the dissenting voice but finding none. He bridled and pulled himself up, pushing his chest out.
“Fall in!” The crowd of soldiers jostled and resolved itself into well-drilled ranks.
“I will not have any insolence or insubordination. You are professional soldiers. To that end, you will follow all orders that are given to you. Is that understood?”
“Sir!”
Any help Edith might have expected from the men had now been snatched from her. Napoo was left hovering, still uncertain, his eyes flitting between Edith and Jeffries. The Padre was still slumped on the floor, muttering to himself. Sister Fenton had distanced herself from her charge and looked on frostily, as if she no longer knew her. Only Nellie stood by her, but Edith began to think it was more to stop her making even more of a fool of herself than for actually believing her. Edith sniffed, wiped her eyes, shrugged herself from Nellie’s embrace and turned round to glare defiantly at Jeffries. He smiled back at her. The arrogance of the man! Well, there was nothing he could do to her here. There were too many witnesses. At least there was that.
Explosions and rifle fire sounded from outside the chamber.
“Sir, they’re coming!”
“Oh, Edith, we’re going to be saved!” said Nellie, clasping her hands. “Come on, love. Let it go. You were mistaken, that’s all.”
“No,” said Edith, pulling her hands from Nellie’s, adjusting her posture and straightening her back, trying to recover at least some dignity as Jeffries walked over to her.
“I remember you,” he whispered. “You missed a frightfully good party, as I recall, hmm? I’ve just decided to invite you to another.”
“Go to hell,” she muttered from between clenched teeth.
Quicker than Edith was prepared for, Jeffries swung around behind her, locked his forearm round her neck and drew the pistol from under his tunic. “Oh, I am, but you’re coming along, too, I’m afraid. Everson, its seems, has forced my hand.”
He covered the startled men with his pistol.
“Jeffries! Damn it, man,” said Grantham. “What’s got into you?”
“It would be so easy to believe I’ve funked it like you, wouldn’t it, old man? You pathetic oaf. You have no idea who I am, what I’ve accomplished. It’s every man for himself. You have served your purpose. I have no further need of you. Of any of you. Except you of course, Bell,” he added, the intimacy of his warm breath against her ear making her shiver with revulsion.
“Edi!” cried Nellie. She took a step towards Edith.