A Duty to the Dead (12 page)

I didn’t try to explain that shell shock didn’t begin with a physical wound.

She excused herself, and I went to my room, to write to my parents, then realized that I’d be giving my father an excuse to come and rescue me. Shell shock, murder, inquests—the Colonel Sahib couldn’t have stayed away. If need be, he’d bring the Household Cavalry with him.

I had packed my belongings the night before but didn’t have the spirit to take them out again. Instead I sat at the desk by the windows of my room and began a letter to Elayne. When it was finished I left it on the silver salver on the little French table in the hall, where someone would see that it was posted.

After that, what to do with myself? I opened the door of the house and stepped out, looking at the sky. To my surprise the clouds had broken, the winds had died down, and after the long spell of frosts and cold, the day was warming quickly. I went up to my room, collected my coat and hat and gloves, and set out for a walk.

As I did, I saw Mrs. Denton and her daughter leaving the rectory.
Arranging poor Ted Booker’s services,
I thought. I would have liked to offer them my sympathy.

This was my first opportunity to observe Sally. She appeared to be a little younger than I was, but she had a small son and was now a widow. I thought about Ted’s promises to me, and felt sad. He had wanted to heal. I wished I could tell his wife that. For her sake…

Her future bleak, her life a shambles now, it was still possible that Sally Booker might find happiness again. In time…

With Timothy?
a little voice in my head asked.

T
HE RECTOR, WALKING
briskly across to the church, waved to me, and when I waved back, he waited for me to catch him up.

“Lovely weather. I see you’re enjoying it,” Mr. Montgomery said as I came within earshot. “Come in, if you will. I need to work for a bit. This business of Ted Booker’s death has disturbed me.”

I joined him, and we turned toward the church. “I thought it was your duty to comfort the ill and the grieving.”

“Yes, so it is. But to tell you the truth, I feel very uneasy in my mind.”

“He killed himself while devastated by the death of his brother,” I said, bristling on Ted Booker’s behalf. “I can’t see how he could be held accountable for his actions, given his state of mind.”

“That’s not what I was driving at. No, I wonder if we couldn’t have made a greater effort, taken the burden from his wife and her mother. I understand twins are very close, closer than brothers even. Harry’s death was a terrible shock to Ted. It was wrong of us to expect him to recover from it quickly.”

“I don’t know that he would have done. I’ve had some experience with what he was suffering. It’s not as simple as grief at the loss of a loved one. It’s a measure of guilt, and the mind dwells on what was done or not done, trying to find a way to change the outcome. But of course that’s not possible, and so there’s no way to escape what
happened.” I found myself thinking of Peregrine Graham. “He might have had problems for years. And I think that frightened him as much as Harry’s death.”

“You are very understanding for one so young,” he said, smiling.

“I’ve dealt with broken bodies and broken minds. You learn how to cope. And how to care.”

“Are you staying on with us for a time?” We went into the church and felt the cold in the stones that today’s sun hadn’t begun to warm. I reached in my pocket and pulled on my gloves.

“I was to leave today. But with Mr. Booker’s death—it’s possible I’ll be called to give information at the inquest.”

“Indeed. That’s very kind of you.”

Before thinking, I blurted, “It isn’t kindness. I thought he had turned a corner, so to speak, and was better. But in the night, the darkness must have come down again. I should have stayed with him. I thought Dr. Philips would have arranged for someone….”

“He tried, but it wasn’t possible.”

“I would have come, if he’d asked.”

“But he did. Mrs. Graham told him you were leaving this morning, and that she wouldn’t interrupt your rest.”

I would have sworn, if I hadn’t been in a church, with its rector.

Before I could answer that, Mr. Montgomery went on. “Did you know that Jonathan went to speak to him around ten o’clock last evening? I was just coming home from Mrs. Turner’s sickbed when I saw him. He waved in my direction but didn’t wait to speak to me. I thought perhaps their conversation had brought the war back to him as well. Still, I was glad he’d gone to see Ted. The two families had grown apart, with the war.”

“It was kind of him,” I said doubtfully.

“Jonathan can be very blunt and to the point, without sympathy, sometimes. But there is good in everyone.” We walked down the aisle, and he paused to examine the cushion on one of the kneeling
benches. “I’m afraid I was partial to Arthur. He was such a good man.”

“Yes, he was,” I responded sadly.

He removed the cushion and took out a needle and thread. We sat down in one of the pews, and he mended a corner that was worn. I watched his hands deftly ply the needle, and the work was as good as I might have done. But the next cushion was beyond his skill and he set it aside. “I could ask the women to do this task, but most of them are busy trying to help the war effort. Bandages, knitting scarves and stockings for the men, even vests. But I must admit to the sin of pride when it comes to my church, and I quietly do what’s possible before asking for help.”

We moved on, and I found it soothing to watch him at work. And I think he enjoyed the companionship as well.

My mind wandered in the stillness, my eyes on the memorial brass that caught the early-morning sun.

Arthur. Ted Booker. Peregrine Graham.

Three men to whom Fate had not been kind. Arthur should have lived, Ted Booker should have been given time to heal, and as for Peregrine—as for Peregrine, he had been lost at fourteen, and there was no way to bring him back.

I sighed, and Mr. Montgomery said, over his shoulder, “That’s the point of working with one’s hands, you see. It gives the mind something else to do besides worry.”

“That’s a very comforting philosophy when you enjoy mending and carpentry.”

He laughed and gave me the end of a cushion to hold while he repaired a seam. The needlepoint pattern was floral, nasturtiums and petunias entwined in a vine of leaves. A subaltern in my father’s last command had been fond of gardening, and his mother had sent seeds for him to plant. Only the nasturtiums survived the heat. I wondered where Linford might be now. Dead?

The rector had set aside two cushions that were beyond his skill.
He put away his needle and said, “There, enough for today.” Collecting the cushions he said, “You’re concerned for Peregrine. That does you credit.”

I hadn’t realized that I’d spoken the three names aloud.

Then something occurred to me. There was a new rector, a new doctor. Was there as well a new policeman here in Owlhurst?

I asked the rector, and he said, “Yes, how did you know? Inspector Gadd, a wonderful man, died of a brain injury some two years after Peregrine was taken away. Inspector Howard is our man now. Not as sharp as Gadd, you know, but early days. Early days.”

All of which meant that those who might have had some part in sending Peregrine to the asylum had died—policeman, doctor, rector. “And what about the magistrate? Is he still here?”

“She. Yes, of course. If you’re concerned about the coming inquest, it shouldn’t be terribly difficult for you. Would you like to go with me while I deliver these cushions? It’s partly pastoral call and partly a way of dispensing charity in a way that doesn’t offend. Mrs. Clayton needs the money, and she’s a wonderful seamstress. And I think she might be glad to hear about Arthur from you.”

Dr. Philips had mentioned her name.

“I’ve nothing else to do,” I agreed. “If you don’t think she’ll mind my coming along.”

“She’ll be delighted. You’ll see.”

We walked from the churchyard down past The Bells, and along the cricket pitch, to a cottage tucked away down a narrow lane. It sat with five of its neighbors in a tiny cul-de-sac that time had passed by. The cottages were, like the rectory, Tudor in style, their roofs running together and almost swaybacked with age. Mrs. Clayton had just stepped out to sweep the large stone that was her stoop, and Mr. Montgomery hailed her.

She looked up and said, “What brings you calling, Rector? Discovered my secret sins, have you?” And she cackled like one of the hens scratching in the grassy patch of land at the end of the lane.

Her eyes were watering in the cold air, her teeth had gone, and she was as wrinkled as a prune, but her spirit was still young.

“I’ve brought more work for you, Mrs. Clayton. And a visitor.”

She passed from her inspection of him to me, standing a little behind the rector, and said, “Is this the lass who came about poor dear Arthur?”

News travels fast in small villages.

“Yes, it’s Elizabeth Crawford, Mrs. Clayton. How are you this morning?” From the start he’d raised his voice a little, to accommodate her loss of hearing. “Is there anything you need?”

“I’m poorly, but still breathing, thankee.” She turned to me. “Was it you nursed Mr. Peregrine when he was sent home with that pneumonia?”

“It was fortunate I was there. He had a close call.”

If she knew and repeated this much gossip, how was I to ask her about Peregrine?

But I needn’t have worried. She invited us in for tea, took the worn cushions from Mr. Montgomery, and then as she set cups in front of us, followed by the teapot, she said, “I was once maid in that house. I knew Mr. Graham, and his first wife, Margaret. Now there was a lovely one, was Miss Margaret. She died in childbirth, you know. They feared for his sanity. But men are fey creatures, six months later he was in love again, this time with the present Mrs. Graham. A Montmorency she was, before her marriage. And they had three sons of their own, in quick succession. Hardly one lying in past, and it was near time for the next. It was a house full of joy. But it didn’t last. First Mr. Graham was taken, and then Peregrine, you might say, and now Arthur. He was so like his father, Mr. Peregrine was, and may still be for all I know. I’d say that Arthur favored his father as well. I can’t say as much for the other two. Very like their mother, both of them. Then Mr. Graham died after his carriage horse bolted and threw him out on his head. A Gypsy woman had foretold his death, you know. “A horse will kill
you, and you will not see the hand that sends you to your death.” Well, it was a child with a hoop run out in the road that startled the horse into bolting, and I doubt Mr. Graham saw her until she was under the hooves of his horse. It was all too quick. Both dead in the blink of an eye.”

Mrs. Clayton loudly sipped her tea through pursed lips, and sighed. “I always did like a nice Darjeeling. Susan sends me a packet now and again.”

“Tell me about Robert,” I said, curiosity getting the better of me.

“Robert? He came to Owlhurst with Mrs. Graham. It was said, to look after her. Her father didn’t want her moving to Kent. If you ask me, if that was his fear, he shouldn’t have given her a London season. But the Montmorency family comes from Northumberland, and whatever nonsense they get up to there, it makes them a suspicious lot. It’s been whispered that Robert was a poor cousin and Mr. Montmorency was looking for a way to keep him employed. Mr. Graham took him on to run the farm.”

The rector smiled into his cup, and I thought perhaps I ought to drop the subject of Robert.

I needn’t have worried. Mrs. Clayton was off again. When she learned I had lived in India for much of my childhood, she said, “And I’ve never been as far as Chatham, though I came that near to seeing London, once.”

She pinched her fingers together to indicate how close it was. I didn’t need to prod her, she launched into the story of her own accord.

“Mrs. Graham was to take a house in London, to show her sons the sights and so forth. We’d heard she was having Mr. Peregrine seen by a specialist as well, but nothing came of that. I was to accompany her, and I was that excited I told all my acquaintance they could write to me at Number 17, Carroll Square.”

She spoke the address as if it were a talisman, grinning toothlessly at me, then went on. “I should have saved my breath. Mrs. Graham changed her mind and decided to keep the servants who
came with the property, and leave us behind. I don’t think I’ve ever felt such disappointment, because that chance wasn’t likely to come my way again.”

I wanted to ask if this was the visit to London that had turned out so disastrously but I’d reckoned without Mrs. Clayton’s sense of drama.

She added, “Now that was when Mr. Peregrine was said to have killed one of the London maids, and I was grateful it was none of
us
dead at his hands. Still, I’ve always been of the opinion he wouldn’t have harmed someone brought from Owlhurst. He was used to us and our ways.”

Comment was expected from me, I could see it in her face.

“How terrible for everyone,” I said. “Did the poor girl have any family?”

“I never heard of any.”

“How sad. Was Mr. Peregrine considered dangerous, before this murder?”

“Not dangerous, that I was ever told, no. But given to anger sometimes, and not clever at his studies. Mr. Jonathan, he was younger, but he’d torment Mr. Peregrine when no one was looking. And Mr. Peregrine, he’d fight back, then Mr. Appleby, the tutor, would send him to his room as punishment. It was Mrs. Graham who decided they should be taught separately, so that Mr. Peregrine wouldn’t hold the other lads back in their studies.”

We had finished our tea and had no excuse to linger. We thanked Mrs. Clayton and rose to leave.

She said, “A shame about poor Mr. Ted, isn’t it? I was that fond of him and of Harry. Have they set the day for the services, Rector?”

“Not yet. I’ll be sure to let you know, Mrs. Clayton.”

I hadn’t considered the fact that she would have known the Bookers as well as the Grahams. I said, “Would you tell me a little about Harry? What he was like? How the two boys got on together?”

We were standing at the door, the rector with his hand on the latch.

Mrs. Clayton said, “They was so alike you couldn’t tell one from the other. What one did, the other was his shadow. And close? They could read each other’s thoughts, I’ll be bound. I remember once, Ted was in the greengrocer’s talking to me, and almost in the middle of a sentence he said, ‘I must go, Mrs. Clayton. Harry wants me.’ And I said, ‘Where is he, then?’ And Ted told me, ‘He’s over by the cricket pitch.’ I followed the boy out of the shop, and he was walking straight toward the cricket pitch. I could see Harry in the distance, standing there watching for him. So I said to him, when he came back from France, you must miss your brother something fierce, and Ted answered, ‘He’s still there, inside my head, and he calls and calls, but he can’t find me.’ I wanted to weep for the two of them. Nasty war!”

I shivered. “I’m surprised they were allowed to serve together.”

“I don’t see how anyone, even the Army, could have kept them apart.” She thanked us for coming to visit and, as we stepped out the door, wished me a safe journey home, adding, “Perhaps it’s a kindness that now they are together again, those two.”

It was as good an epitaph as any.

“It’s so sad, isn’t it?” I said to Mr. Montgomery. “What war does to families.”

Mr. Montgomery replied, “You mustn’t take our burdens on your shoulders, Miss Crawford. I was warned when I went to France as chaplain not to dwell on all I saw or heard. It was a hard lesson. But it has stayed with me here in my parish. I am the better for it.”