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    An Unwilling Accomplice: A Bess Crawford Mystery
    An Unwilling Accomplice: A Bess Crawford Mystery
    An Unwilling Accomplice: A Bess Crawford Mystery
    Ebook422 pages7 hours

    An Unwilling Accomplice: A Bess Crawford Mystery

    By Charles Todd

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    World War I Battlefield nurse Bess Crawford’s career is in jeopardy when a murder is committed on her watch, in this absorbing and atmospheric historical mystery from New York Times bestselling author Charles Todd.

     Home on leave, Bess Crawford is asked to accompany a wounded soldier confined to a wheelchair to Buckingham Palace, where he’s to be decorated by the King. The next morning when Bess goes to collect Wilkins, he has vanished. Both the Army and the nursing service hold Bess negligent for losing the war hero, and there will be an inquiry.

    Then comes disturbing word from the Shropshire police, complicating the already difficult situation: Wilkins has been spotted, and he’s killed a man. If Bess is to save her own reputation, she must find Wilkins and uncover the truth. But the elusive soldier has disappeared again and even the Shropshire police have lost him. Suddenly, the moral implications of what has happened—that a patient in her charge has committed murder—become more important to Bess than her own future. She’s going to solve this mysterious puzzle, but righting an injustice and saving her honor may just cost Bess her life.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateAug 12, 2014
    ISBN9780062237217
    An Unwilling Accomplice: A Bess Crawford Mystery
    Author

    Charles Todd

    Charles Todd is the New York Times bestselling author of the Inspector Ian Rutledge mysteries, the Bess Crawford mysteries, and two stand-alone novels. A mother-and-son writing team, Caroline passed away in August 2021 and Charles lives in Florida.

    Read more from Charles Todd

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    Reviews for An Unwilling Accomplice

    3.5/5

    26 ratings34 reviews

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    • 4/5
      I have read several other Beth Crawford mysteries and enjoyed each. This was no exception. A part of me feels that the story is unrealistic--a nursing sister during WWI who just happens to be back in England at the right time, etc.--but it nonetheless works for me. I like the mix of story line and insight into aspects of Britain during the Great War. I will definitely look for others in this series.
    • 4/5
      I always love to spend time in nurse Bess Crawford's world. Even though these mysteries are set in the dark years of World War I, you come away from the books inspired by the character, sense of duty, and desire to set the world right of Bess and Simon. (Am I the only one who hopes for a romance in their future?)
    • 3/5
      Badly wounded man insists a British officer shot him.
    • 3/5
      I had never read any books in the Bess Crawford series before I read this one, but as a fan of the Maggie Hope WWII series, I was looking forward to this, as it seemed like a similar kind of story. It started out really well, the plot drawing me in right away as Bess is unwillingly dragged into a British soldier's plan to desert his post after being honored by the King for his service. The first 50 pages flew by. But then, as Bess (and later, Simon) arrive in the English countryside to track down the missing soldier, the plot dragged to a halt. Back and forth from inn to inn in a series of small towns, running down false leads - it became so tedious! I wanted more interaction between Bess and Simon on the relationship front! The various twists, turns, and dead-ends of the plot became hard to follow, and I found myself skimming through some sections, because I just wanted to get on with it and finish the book. I'm still not sure I totally grasp the ending and how everything was wrapped up, but to be honest, I'm not sure I even care.As other reviewers have stated, I wish there had been more time spent on character development. I wanted to get to know Simon better - here, he just seemed like a glorified chauffeur for Bess as she traipsed around the countryside. Some plot points required some suspension of reality - I find it hard to believe that a nurse like Bess would have been so involved in this - and the reasoning behind her wanting to locate this soldier seemed tenuous. And would she REALLY have had that much leave? Overall, while I didn't feel lost coming into the series at this point (a good thing), and the author didn't feel the need to reexplain everything that happened in past books (another good thing), I don't think I'm going to seek out other books in this series.
    • 4/5
      I received this book from the Early Reviewers program. I have read all the Bess Crawford mysteries by Charles Todd, and thought that this was another excellent entry in the series. I particularly enjoyed that we got to see a lot more of Simon in this book and he joins Bess to track down a soldier who disappeared while under Bess's care. Lots of fun and definitely recommended.
    • 3/5
      Bess is asked to escort a wounded soldier to Buckingham Palace so he can received his medal of honor. He later goes AWOL and Bess is accused of helping him. She sets out to clear her name with help of the family friend, Sgt Major Simon.
    • 3/5
      I've long been a fan of Charles Todd's Bess Crawford series, and this book has a truly intriguing mystery. First of all, how did a man confined to a wheelchair manage to vanish without a trace? Secondly, how could he have committed murder? And why? This plot really had my deductive juices flowing.Unfortunately An Unwilling Accomplice is probably the weakest book in the series, and it has everything to do with its too-large cast and its very uneven pacing. The story is good for showing readers just how determined (or stubborn) Bess Crawford is and how seriously she takes her profession. She becomes obsessed with finding out what happened and risks getting into even more trouble with the Army and the nursing service.But the pacing of this book is almost its undoing. For much of the time the story drags out interminably, adding many secondary characters who are easy to confuse. Just when I would wonder if anything significant were ever going to happen-- BAM!-- the pace would click into breakneck speed for a bit before slowing back down to a crawl. It's a shame because-- as I've already said-- the mystery is a good one.I'm still far from tiring of Bess Crawford, and it's the autumn of 1918. What is she going to do once World War I is at an end? I look forward to what Charles Todd may have in store for us.
    • 3/5
      2014, Harper Audio, Read by Rosalyn LandorPublisher’s Summary: adapted from Audible.comArriving in London on leave, Bess Crawford receives an unusual summons from the War Office. She's been requested to accompany a wounded soldier to Buckingham Palace, where he's to be decorated for gallantry by King George himself.Though she is certain she's never met or nursed Sergeant Jason Wilkins, she cannot refuse the honor. Heavily bandaged and confined to a wheelchair, the soldier will be in her care for barely a day. But on the morning after the ceremony when Bess goes to collect her charge for his return journey, she finds the room empty. Both the Army and the Nursing Service hold Bess to blame for losing the war hero. There is a humiliating inquiry, and the incident is noted in her record.More disturbing news complicates her already difficult situation: the Army now considers Wilkins a deserter, and Scotland Yard questions her when Wilkins is suspected of killing a man in cold blood. If Bess is to clear her name and return to duty in France, she must prove that she was never his accomplice. But the sergeant has disappeared again and neither the Army nor the police can find him.My Review:Following Wilkins’ desertion, and the tarnish it leaves on Bess’ impeccable service record, she and Simon Brandon (c’mon Simon!) set about following a trail of clues across England. They are drawn into a mystery that grows darker with every discovery. For my part, this goose chase read as convoluted – and I did not appreciate the gross coincidence that appears late in the novel in order to resolve the mystery. Certainly not one of my favourites in this series. But, overall, I am enjoying and intend to continue. Next up is A Pattern of Lies.
    • 3/5
      The Bess Crawford series provides interesting glimpses into England during WWI, but of course, I prefer the Ian Rutledge series. Bess is a nursing Sister who is stationed primarily in France, but she returns home to England for leave and to solve a mystery, along with Simon Brandon. Simon and Bess act like siblings, and the reader wonders if this relationship will ever develop further. The characters are well developed, but the setting reigns supreme in these novels. The reader can almost smell and fell the English countryside. The plot follows the same pattern in every novel, and Simon's car plays a huge role in the novel, as well as all the inns in which Simon and Bess spend a night. Sometimes the actions seem a little unrealistic, but still an intriguing story.
    • 4/5
      Bess Crawford is a nurse during WWI. She has been assigned to help a patient be presented to the king for a decoration due to heroism, but her reputation as a competent nurse is in danger when he disappears from her care. Now Bess wants to get to the bottom of the mystery and clear her name.I enjoyed the setting for this story and found the details of wartime in England during WWI interesting. As for the mystery, I wasn't even sure what the mystery was until the end of the book, let alone who did it. That is good in one way, but in another, it made the middle of the story seem like a lot of wheels spinning and going nowhere in particular. There were some things which required quite a bit of suspension of disbelief, but I can't name them without spoilers. It was still a pleasant read and I will pursue this series.
    • 3/5
      While on leave in England from her position as a nursing sister on the battlefields of France in World War I, Bess Crawford has “lost” a soldier in her care. In an effort to clear her name Bess searches for the deserter, Sergeant Wilkins, who is then additionally under suspicion of murder. Joined by her platonic counterpart, Simon (a Sergeant-Major), the search is on for the missing soldier. This leads them to a cluster of three villages. Travelling repeatedly through these towns they follow numerous leads in an effort to find a murderer and save Sister Crawford’s professional integrity. As in any murder mystery there are multiple suspects and red herrings - just a few too many of each which end up muddling the plot.Bess is an enjoyable character, professional and calm even in the most difficult situations. The book reflects the difficulties of wartime and the more formal hierarchies of social status in this time period. It was a cozy historical mystery to read on an autumn day.
    • 3/5
      This was my first Bess Crawford Mystery, in fact, the first book I've read by Charles Todd. I love the premise of these books. Bess is a nurse working for England during WWI. In this story, Bess is home from France on leave when she is asked to accompany a wounded soldier to the Palace to be honored by the King. When the soldier is found missing the next morning, Bess is suspected of being an accomplice and sets out to clear her name. I loved the historical setting of this book, the depiction of the war and the English countryside during this time. An enjoyable book!
    • 3/5
      The novel opens with battlefield nurse Bess Crawford summoned to the war department in London. She is ordered to escort a wounded soldier to Buckingham Palace to be decorated by King George.A day after the ceremony, the soldier, Sgt. Jason Wilkins disappears. Bess is questioned about his disappearance and accused of dereliction of duty in permitting him to go AWOL.What follows is Bess's efforts along with her friend, Simon Brandon, to search the English countryside and locate the missing soldier and thus, to clear Bess's name.Through the eyes of Bess, we view the English landscape and observe many of the victims of WWI, both military and civilian.One of Bess's friends sums up the true cost of the war. "I think the greatest cost of the war is in lost friends...All the young men I've danced with...played tennis with and dallied with, are gone."In the midst of the story Bess and Simon come upon a town where a wealthy woman is caring for a wounded officer. Thinking that it might turn out to be Sgt. Wilkins, they question the woman. In this case there is a head wound. It isn't Wilkins but we observe another casualty. The soldier has a head wound that causes moments of irrational behavior.This was an easy read where I could imagine the countryside and what Bess and Simon were going through. I was a bit confused with the conclusion but overall enjoyed the story.
    • 3/5
      While I really like the setting and the plot ideas, I'm getting discouraged with Charles Todd. So much time is spent rushing around England and so little time on character development. In this one Bess and Simon track down a deserter whose dissapearance causes Bess to be accused of being an accomplice.
    • 3/5
      This is my first book by Charles Todd. Bess Crawford and Simon Brandon are likable characters and are working diligently to find Sargent Wilkins who went missing while under Bess's nursing care. If you take the actual story away from the book it is quite enjoyable, however there is a lot of plot line that is tedious and redundant. I often had to put the book down just to clear my head of the confusion between Major Findly and Sargent Wilkins.
    • 3/5
      Bess Crawford is indeed an unwilling accomplice. She’s a nurse, a Sister as the British would say, in the Nursing Service, who has just returned to London after serving in France. It’s Autumn 1918 and Bess has escorted a group of wounded soldiers back to Britain, and she is looking forward to a few days leave, especially as a respite from the horrors of the battlefields. Unexpectedly, she is requested by the War Office to accompany a wheelchair bound soldier suffering head and leg wounds to an awards ceremony at Buckingham Palace where the soldier, Sergeant Wilkins, is to receive a medal for his heroism in France from the King. All goes well at the ceremony and Bess accompanies the sergeant back to the hotel where they both have rooms and her responsibility for him will end the next morning when someone from the hospital where he is resident will come by to escort him back to the hospital. Until then, he is in Beth’s charge as her patient.Unfortunately when morning rolls around, Beth discovers that Sergeant Wilkins is not to be found in his room or anywhere else for that matter. Having “lost” her patient who was in her charge, Beth is now regarded unfavorably by both the Nursing Service and the Army. Matters take a further turn for the worse when the missing sergeant becomes a suspect in a murder. It’s not difficult to see that the Army and the Nursing Service, as well as Scotland Yard, officials would suspect that Beth may have been an accomplice to the sergeant’s plans. Beth is disgraced, but determined to try to restore her reputation by finding the wayward sergeant and and showing that she played neither a knowing nor negligent role in his plans.Fortunately, Beth is not without loyal friends and family. Her father is a retired Colonel and there is Simon Brandon, the Colonel’s former batman, and now one of “the youngest Sergeant Majors in the British Army.” In the course of tracking down the elusive Sergeant Wilkins, Beth and Simon work together and in the course of following leads and clues in a remote and rural part of England, they come across many characters and uncover hidden secrets and romances. It’s a good mystery story, involving dark nights, stolen horses, missing goats, close calls, and only at the end will most readers be sure of the identity of the murderer
    • 2/5
      I've never read a Bess Crawford mystery nor anything by Charles Todd. An Unwilling Accomplice (number 6) was very disappointing. I do hate starting a series in the middle, but even so, this was just a mess -- the story was boring while the writing and the repeated filler paragraphs (Lower to Upper - somewhere...) were unbearable. Perhaps I'll try the first book in the series in hopes that these authors have done a better job and An Unwilling Accomplice was the "one off".
    • 3/5
      Quite a good story..original...yet maybe not for the time of war. I don't know much of the World War I period which is why I read this along with the massie Dobbs series. I was kept in suspense as I learned about lives in some of the smaller towns...this will be a great book for. Book clubs to digest. Good characters. Good writing. I will definitely recommend it.
    • 2/5
      This book represents a milestone for me. It signifies the conclusion of my reading challenge for 2014. It mirrors the first book that I read on my kindle, which was by the same authors as this one. The similarities between the two books end here. It's not a good thing. The language used in An Unwilling Accomplice is not the best of what the authors are capable of. The way the story has been conceived and organized leaves a lot to be desired. The repetition of a troubled and tragic scapegoat can be shrugged off. After all nothing is new under the sun. However the way that person, Sergeant Wilkins, disappears so early in the story makes it difficult to bond with him. Along with that, from experience, us readers know, for sure that he is innocent. So the readers aren't on the tenterhooks of suspense that the authors were counting on. Adding to the way the scapegoat made his appearance, is the uninspired locale of the amateur investigation by Bess and Simon. It's literally a hamlet. More like three of them. Oh the horror, the boredom! Nothing of note happened for most of the book. Any information of importance was difficult to grasp. The Cartwright character slipped in and out of the book like a ghost. He was not wanted or needed. He was totally surplus to requirement. I am very unsatisfied with this book. I can kind of see how a different reader might come to love this book. But loving An Unwilling Accomplice is not possible for me in this lifetime.
    • 5/5
      If you have somehow never read one of Charles Todd's Bess Crawford series, you are missing out on a real treat. Bess is one of those heroines that I just immediately loved and rooted for even though occasionally wanting to scold her for taking risks.She is a British nurse in World War I and she spends much of her time in France near the front lines. This is a military service in which the women are held to a higher standard of conduct than civilian women. They have a uniform and are subject to orders just like soldiers. Since it is early in the 20th century, women still lead restricted lives anyway, but the nurses represent England and as such need to remain above reproach. How Bess manages to solve murders in that sort of climate is largely due to her father's assistant Simon Brandon. Her father is apparently in military intelligence.In this story Bess is assigned to accompany a wounded officer to Buckingham Palace where he is presented a medal by the king. She is responsible for him until an orderly picks him up at the hotel the next morning to return him to the rehabilitation hospital. She can't remain in his room overnight of course, but when she checks on him in the morning he has disappeared. Then she hears of a sighting of him at a bridge where a man is murdered. She is in big trouble; in fact she's in danger of being thrown out of the nursing service. Obviously this calls for an investigation and when Simon gets wind of it, he comes to help.The story becomes more and more mysterious until it seems like they are following several soldiers on the run. I loved trying to work out the plot and wasn't disappointed at the end. Meanwhile, I learned about the care of wounded men in France and England, and how ordinary people lived in the countryside during that war.One character in this book stands out. A man called Maddie cares for all the people in several villages in England. He seems a competent doctor but doesn't claim to be one and Bess is mystified by him. He lives alone very simply. What is his story? I haven't read all the books in this series but I hope to eventually. Highly recommended.Source: HarperCollins
    • 4/5
      The Unwilling Accomplice ( A Bess Crawford Mystery)By: Charles Todd Crime/MysteryHarper Collins 2014 Pages. 366Copy Courtesy of The Reading Room Advanced CopiesReviewed by: tkBess Crawford is a nurse, in London during WW1 in 1918. She attends, and transports wounded soldiers from France to London. Bess receives a letter from the War Office in regards to a man that had been wounded, and in need of her services during his award ceremony at the Buckingham Palace. Seems easy enough. What Bess doesn’t know is that this wounded hero has a private agenda. Sergeant Jason Wilkins will involve Bess in a immense cat and mouse to keep her name in good standing, and to right the wrongs that have been done. With the help of Simon, her fathers personal servant, and long friend will embark on an extraordinary tale of murder, deceit, false identities, and mayhem. This is the first book I have read by Charles Todd, and I did enjoy the read. His characters are superior, witty, and strong in nature. Bess seems to fall into trouble easily, and really doesn’t have the best of luck. Amazingly though she has a good friend that isn’t intimidated by her struggles, and will see it through until its conclusion. Simon seems to love and understand Bess very well. I really thought there would be more of a romance between them. Again, this is the first book I have read, so maybe that has happened, or will at some future point is unknown to me.The story has a spectacular amount of twist and turns. I love the imaginative ways the author brought in additional details and characters. The one downfall of the book was the amount of back and forth travel of Simon and Beth. I feel the repetitive content took the flow out of the center of the story. I found the urge to skip forward very tempting. Overall an amazing read. 3.5/5
    • 4/5
      This time Bess is asked to accompany a wounded soldier to receive his medal from the king for a brave act that almost got him killed. The man seemed to be pleasant enough, but even though he claimed Bess was one of the nurses who helped save him, she couldn’t place his face or his wound in her memory.She does her duty, escorts the man and is with him in the presence of the king and brings him back to the hotel. After settling him in and promising not to bother him much because some of his friends were going to stop and visit she has a nice evening meal with Simon in the hotel restaurant. Against her better judgement she only checks on him twice before bed, under the impression the soldier was still close to an invalid and thus would be safe enough with minimal checks.Her nice turn comes back to bite her. In the morning, she discovers her patient must have left in the night and hasn’t come back yet. She hopes his friends just got him a little too toasted and are late getting him back. It soon becomes apparent that he’s not coming back, nor has he been checked into any of the area hospitals. This leaves Bess in hot water. She lost a patient who a couple days later is wanted in connection to a murder, making Bess’s situation even worse.Bess and Simon eventually team up and drive all over the English countryside looking for clues to her missing patient. A few clues lead them to a small village which might also have been mostly wishful thinking. However, there does seem to be some strange happenings and a couple strange men that have recently shown up and the community is tight lipped about them, muddying the waters for our duo.
    • 5/5
      I can never get enough of historical fiction, especially mysteries. I guess this was born from reading a bit of Agatha Christie, although hers are only “historical” because of how much time has passed since initial publication. Nowadays, whenever I want a reliable read, I don’t look much further than Charles Todd and his Ian Rutledge and Bess Crawford mysteries. Although it must be noted, Charles Todd is actually a mother and son writing team who work so well together, that determining who contributed what in any of their books is impossible.An Unwilling Accomplice is one of the latest installments of the Bess Crawford mystery series. Set toward the end of World War I, this particular story finds Bess on a short leave looking forward to some much needed rest. However, she’s been requested to accompany a wounded soldier to Buckingham Palace where the man is to receive a medal.The mystery begins subtly as she doesn't recognize the name and with her memory of wounds, she’s sure she would have remembered him. Regardless, she does her duty only to be repaid by the man up and disappearing. The next time she hears about him, he is suspected of committing murder and is on the run.Bess is yet again caught up with intrigue during a tumultuous time in England which quickly mirrors itself in Bess’ life as she strives to right a wrong. This time the situation nearly causes her to lose her place in the nursing service, as well as the respect of her superiors she’s worked so hard to earn on her own, not as her father’s daughter.The story is engaging and keeps your attention through every chapter. In the past, she’s received some help from her family, but this particular adventure is primarily her and Simon Brandon working to find the truth before their suspect kills again. Another difference is that most of the book is set in England while Bess is on leave, giving those familiar with the series a break from the war just like their heroine Bess.At 352 pages, you won’t feel the need to skip along, because the story never drags. There is little predictability and the plot is complex enough but not over the top. Highly, highly recommended!Fans of Maisie Dobbs and Maggie Hope will love Bess and once Todd has you hooked, you have to check out the Ian Rutledge mysteries. The first book in that series is called A Test of Wills.
    • 4/5
      I enjoyed the book, but I felt, as I often do with mysteries, that it lagged in the middle, as if the publisher has said, "Look, can't you add a few more chapters so we can get beyond that 300 page mark?" In this case, I became dizzy as they drove back and forth (and back and forth) between 3 villages with nearly the same name (Lower-, Middle-, and Upper-something). At one point I made a note that surely petrol was rationed and how is it they never needed to fill their tank in this trio of villages (that had neither a telephone nor a constable). I had to smile 3 pages later when Simon SPOILER ALERT went to fill his tank.On the other hand, the plot was rather new and so fun to read. The characters are probably well-know to readers of the series. So, is there a romantic frisson crackling between Bess and Simon? I am intrigued by the mother and son team that comprise "Charles Todd." Geographic distance makes no barrier in this day; does gender? relationship? age? I would be great to have LT interview them.
    • 5/5
      I was delighted to receive a copy of An Unwilling Accomplice from Library Thing's Early Reviewers program. I have read all the Bess Crawford books and have liked them all. Much like Jacqueline Winspear's Maisie Dobbs books, the authors let you become immersed in the time period. This book in particular emphasized the importance of one's reputation and integrity. It also gave the reader insight into life in small villages during the war. For me, the depiction of life during WWI was more compelling than the mystery in this book. I would highly recommend this book to others who like this genre.
    • 2/5
      I have read books in this series before and enjoyed them, and if I look just at the historical aspects it is very well done. But this story was very convoluted and didn’t seem plausible at all. The motives for Bess pursuing the search personally were weak, and there were just far too many coincidental discoveries and mysterious strangers involved. Bess repeatedly puts herself in danger despite warnings because she “knows” it will be safe—I guess she’s supposed to seem brave, but instead she just seems reckless. It has been clear since the beginning of the series that there could be a different relationship between Simon and Bess, but here he filled a strictly utilitarian role so there was no growth in that direction. I’m disappointed.
    • 3/5
      Charles Todd's 2014 Bess Crawford novel “An Unwilling Accomplice” has an intriguing beginning and an equally intriguing ending, even if the long midsection of the book gets a bit tedious.The Great War is winding down in 1918 when Bess, a nurse stationed near the front in France, is assigned to accompany a wounded soldier who is being presented a medal by the king at Buckingham Palace. That night Sergeant Wilkins asks Bess to give him some time alone with friends, then slips away in the night. Not only does he become a deserter, but Scotland Yard soon suspects him of murder.Bess finds herself an unwilling accomplice to these crimes. To restore her good name, she sets out to try to track down Wilkins herself. She is accompanied most of the way by Simon Brandon, an officer attached to her father and a regular in this series of novels. He gets more to do than usual this time, allowing the relationship between the pair to develop a bit, but any reader hoping for romance to develop will be disappointed yet again.The hunt for Wilkins becomes tedious because Bess and Simon seem to go around in circles, then back and forth a lot. There's a wounded man called the Major who may or may not be Wilkins. Then there's a couple of women who may or may not be hiding a wounded soldier in their home. Lacking official standing in the case — although as an officer in wartime it would seem Simon should have more clout than he displays — the pair stumble around a lot trying to discover what's really going on, instead of simply asking direct questions. It's also hard to understand how, with the war still going on in France, both Bess and Simon have so much free time to track down a killer in England.The ending rewards the patient reader, however, making this, if not one of the best Bess Crawford mysteries, at least a worthy addition.

      1 person found this helpful

    • 3/5
      Good period piece, very complicated
    • 4/5
      First try for me with this series and I will try again. Convoluted rather than intriguing, good characterization within a meager plot premise. Lots of wandering through the countryside; seeking clues leading to an fairly obvious conclusion followed by a "happy days" accounting of the military characters. The book did a good job of demonstrating, without preaching, both the political blunders and devastating casualties of the Great War.

      1 person found this helpful

    • 3/5
      I got through this book somehow. I won't read another in the series. It was so slow moving, like molasses in January.

      1 person found this helpful

    Book preview

    An Unwilling Accomplice - Charles Todd

    DEDICATION

    Again . . .

    For John

    With so much love

    Now and always . . .

    CONTENTS

    Dedication

    Chapter One

    Chapter Two

    Chapter Three

    Chapter Four

    Chapter Five

    Chapter Six

    Chapter Seven

    Chapter Eight

    Chapter Nine

    Chapter Ten

    Chapter Eleven

    Chapter Twelve

    Chapter Thirteen

    Chapter Fourteen

    Chapter Fifteen

    Chapter Sixteen

    Chapter Seventeen

    Chapter Eighteen

    Chapter Nineteen

    Chapter Twenty

    Chapter Twenty-One

    Chapter Twenty-Two

    P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . . *

    About the author

    About the book

    Read on

    Also by Charles Todd

    Praise

    Credits

    Copyright

    About the Publisher

    CHAPTER ONE

    London, Autumn 1918

    I’D JUST BROUGHT a convoy of wounded back to England, and as I walked into Mrs. Hennessey’s house in the cool of early morning, I thought what a haven of tranquillity it was. Here I could put the war behind me for a few brief hours and perhaps sleep peacefully. We’d been too close to the heavy guns for weeks, turning even the pleasantest dreams into nightmares. My ears still ached from the incessant pounding.

    I moved quietly toward the stairs so as not to disturb Mrs. Hennessey, but she popped her head out the door of her downstairs rooms to say, Bess? My dear, welcome home! Will you be staying?

    Smiling, I said, Only for three days. Too brief to think of going to Somerset. But long enough to catch my breath. It was a rough crossing, and my patients were seasick. As were three of the orderlies. Are any of my flatmates here?

    Mary came in last week. I haven’t seen Diana in a bit. She spends as much time as she can in Dover.

    Her fiancé had been posted to Dover Castle, much to his chagrin, but Diana was very happy that he was needed there and not in France. I wasn’t quite sure what it was he was doing, something in Intelligence, although I had a feeling that her amusing, offhand comments about his standing guard on the castle ramparts were designed to conceal just how hush-hush his real duties were.

    Several of us had taken the first-floor flat in Mrs. Hennessey’s house in the autumn of 1914 when we began our training as Sisters, for it was not thought to be proper for unattended women to stay in an hotel. It had become a second home for all of us, and Mrs. Hennessey spoiled us when she could.

    There’s hot water for a bath, she was saying now, and I’ll bring up a fresh pot of tea after you’ve had a rest.

    That would be lovely, I said gratefully, and went on up the stairs.

    Half an hour later, I’d no more than touched my head to my pillow when Mrs. Hennessey was at my door. I struggled up and went to help her, wishing she’d waited an hour or so before bringing up my tea.

    But it wasn’t a tea tray in her hands. It was a letter.

    This just came by special messenger, Bess, dear. I didn’t like to disturb you, but it appears to be official.

    It was from the War Office. But why would the War Office be writing to me?

    I thanked her, and she waited anxiously while I opened the envelope and took out the single sheet inside.

    I scanned the letter and then, dismayed, I read it again.

    Looking up, I said, Good gracious! I’ve been asked to attend a wounded man who is to receive a medal from the King. Buckingham Palace …

    My dear, what an honor, she said, pleased for me.

    But there must be some mistake. I don’t believe I’ve nursed this man. The name isn’t familiar. Sergeant Jason Wilkins.

    Perhaps the Sister he wanted to ask is presently in France, while you’re available.

    It was possible. Well, this is a surprise. I expect it means they’ll extend my leave. The King’s Audience isn’t until early next week. I could have a weekend in Somerset, with my family.

    How nice, she said, but I sensed her disappointment. While she was pleased for me, it meant I wouldn’t be here for several days after all. And she was lonely, a widow, with only a handful of old friends. The comings and goings of her young tenants was something she looked forward to, and she’d grown comfortable with us in the weeks and months that had become years.

    I smiled. Never mind. We’ll have today and tomorrow. And then I must come back to London on Monday.

    Her face brightened. That would be lovely, Bess. I must admit, it’s been dull with all of you in France.

    The war had kept us busy for four bloody years. And now, when rumors of an end were spreading both in France and in England, the killing was still going on. Wounded and dying men were being carried into the forward aid stations without respite. And even when the fighting was finished, the guns silent, even then there would still be wounded to care for.

    Do you need to respond? Mrs. Hennessey asked. I could post a letter for you.

    It’s official. They expect me to appear, I said. I tried to suppress a yawn. It means having a fresh uniform, I added. Those I brought home are not good enough.

    I’ll be happy to launder them for you, she offered. You must rest, if you’re to look your best. Something else occurred to her. What sort of wound does this young man have?

    He’s probably going to be in an invalid chair. I’ll be asked to push it forward when he’s summoned to the King to have the decoration pinned on his uniform, and then back to resume our place in the row.

    I’ve never seen the King, she said wistfully. But I did see his late father, King Edward. And I saw Queen Victoria as well, on her Diamond Jubilee.

    Did you indeed?

    Oh, yes, it was the most exciting thing. Mr. Hennessey took me to see the procession, and I remarked how small she was. Empress of India, and hardly up to my shoulder. I saw King Edward on his way to his coronation. Such a fine figure of a man for his age.

    Well, I shall tell you all about it, I promised. Thank you, Mrs. Hennessey.

    Before I could close the door, she added quickly, Shall I send a telegram to your parents?

    Yes, that would be nice. It wasn’t necessary, but she was so eager to help that I couldn’t say no.

    Pleased, she nodded and then hurried toward the stairs. I shut the door and went back to bed.

    It was an honor. The sergeant must have asked for me particularly. Usually an orderly attended the patient. But what mattered even more were a few days at home. As I sank back against my pillows, I smiled sleepily. Whatever the reason for my being chosen for this ceremony, it had extended my leave. And that was an unexpected joy.

    CHAPTER TWO

    IT WAS SIMON who came into London to fetch me. He had a bruise along his jawline, still a dark shade of purple and blue. I glanced at it but said nothing. It wouldn’t be the first time an overeager recruit had put more enthusiasm than ability into showing his mettle. Or some assignment in France had resulted in unexpected action.

    He’d been a part of my life as long as I could remember. First as a young recruit who made his own life and my father’s miserable for reasons I’d never been told. My father had, in his usual fashion of keeping his enemies close, promoted the rebellious youngster to the position of batman—an officer’s personal servant. Out of that simple solution had grown a friendship that had endured much over the years, and resulted in Simon becoming one of the youngest Sergeant-Majors in the British Army. An honorary position usually won after years of service, I might add.

    He now lived in the cottage just through the wood at the bottom of our garden. That is, when he was not off somewhere at the behest of the War Office.

    As he set my kit in the rear seat, then opened the door for me, Simon commented, Your mother has already seen to a fresh uniform. I was to tell you that before you asked to be taken round the shops today.

    Of course she has. I should have guessed. Will they be coming to London as well? My mother and the Colonel Sahib?

    The Colonel is away. Your mother was making noises that sounded to me very much like decisions on what hat would look best.

    I laughed. Rested, eager to see my parents, I was glad to be in Simon’s motorcar, the bonnet pointed toward Somerset.

    Simon glanced at me. You look much better than the last time I saw you.

    Amazing what a little sleep will do.

    He laughed in his turn, that deep chuckle that meant he was truly amused.

    It was a long but easy journey to Somerset, and my mother was there on the steps to greet me as the motorcar pulled up. It was only for two nights—but I was at home.

    I left Somerset very early on Monday morning, my new uniform packed in tissue paper in the rear seat of Simon’s motorcar, to prevent it from being crushed. My mother, much to her disappointment, couldn’t come. There was a new widow to call on, the wife of a young Lieutenant in the regiment that had once been my father’s. The present Colonel’s lady was at the bedside of her very ill sister, and Mother had volunteered to take her place.

    According to the letter I’d received, I would have an opportunity to meet my patient, Sergeant Wilkins, in the early evening when he arrived in London, and then tomorrow I would escort him to his engagement at the Palace. His bandages would be seen to before he came down from the hospital in Shrewsbury, and my role was a ceremonial one, unless of course he had an unexpected setback.

    King George was popular—a family man himself, he had guided us through the trying years of war, a quiet strength that had given all of us courage.

    Simon escorted me to the hotel to call on Sergeant Wilkins. He knocked on the door, and we heard the patient call, Come!

    We walked in to find him lying propped up in bed, his well-padded left leg a long hump under the coverlet, his right arm in a sling. A third bandage encircled his head. I couldn’t see the color of his hair, but I thought it might be fair, judging from his eyebrows. His blue eyes were—for lack of a better word—troubled. I thought perhaps he was in more pain than he cared to admit, or perhaps the journey down from Shrewsbury had been harder than he’d expected.

    Hullo, he said, surveying us. It’s good to see you again, Sister Crawford.

    Sergeant Wilkins, I said in acknowledgment, trying to place what I could see of his face. How are you this evening?

    I’m well enough, thank you. The orderly who brought me down from Shrewsbury has gone to fetch our dinners. He left me as comfortable as possible.

    We sat down in the only two chairs in the room, and I presented Simon.

    Sergeant-Major, my patient said, nodding. A lot of fuss over nothing, he went on. But it’s good for morale, they tell me.

    Machine-gun nest, was it? Simon asked.

    Yes. I tossed in a grenade, but they were still firing, and that was unexpected. I discovered later that the grenade was a dud. There was nothing left but to finish the task myself.

    Small wonder he was being decorated for valor. Then I realized that Simon must have looked up the sergeant’s record.

    They talked about the war, and then an orderly, an older man by the name of Thompson, came in with a covered tray, and we took our leave.

    Walking down the hotel passage to the stairs, I said, I’ve dealt with so many wounded. It isn’t surprising I should forget some of their names. But not their wounds.

    It’s more than likely he was misinformed about the Sister who sent him back to the Field Hospital.

    Yes, that’s true.

    Many men were grateful to us for saving life and—sometimes more important to them—limbs. The only angry tirades I’d endured were when someone came out of surgery without a limb and blamed me for letting it happen. The men knew, of course, that I’d had nothing to do with the decision to amputate, but I was there, and their fear and shock were very real.

    I’d taken a room of my own at The Monarch to be available if Sergeant Wilkins needed care, even though Thompson was staying in his room. But when I looked in on them before going to bed, he was quietly sleeping. And the orderly was sitting by the lamp, reading. He nodded to me, and I left without speaking.

    The next afternoon, at the time appointed, I went down the passage to collect my patient.

    He was ready, the parts of his uniform that had had to be cut away to accommodate his bandages skillfully pinned out of sight by the orderly.

    I said after greeting Thompson, I’m to bring him back here after the ceremony?

    If you would, please, Sister. And he’ll be in your care until tomorrow morning when the hospital sends someone to collect him. I’m to return to France tonight.

    Fair enough. His treatment schedule and list of medicines are all in order?

    Yes, Sister. I’ve set them on the table there at the window. There are powders to help him sleep, as well. Shouldn’t be any trouble. The Sister in charge at Shrewsbury asked me not to change the dressings, just to refresh the bandaging. But he’ll need them replaced before he takes the train again. The orderly they’re sending to bring him back will see to that as well.

    We settled Sergeant Wilkins in his invalid chair, covering his legs with a blanket. Thompson helped me wheel him out to the lift and down to Reception.

    A motorcar was waiting for us, and after we had stowed the sergeant safely in the rear seat, I wished Thompson well in France, then joined my patient. In no time we were arriving at the gates of Buckingham Palace, our papers carefully checked by the policeman on duty.

    Wilkins gave me a wry, nervous grin. The machine-gun nest wasn’t this bad. I wonder if anyone has ever fainted from sheer anticipation.

    Not in my charge, I said briskly, with a smile.

    We were through the gates and arriving at the portico where we were to alight.

    There, red carpeted stairs loomed before us, and Wilkins said, Oh dear.

    But footmen in uniform were there to help him out of the motorcar, into his chair again, and to carry him up the short flight of stairs to the main reception hall.

    Another, far more formidable, staircase met us there. Again, the Palace was well prepared. Unhappily they had had four years of practice. I followed the two tall footmen bearing the invalid chair and the sergeant, his face grim, to the landing and then to the top of the steps. Above us was a glorious painted ceiling, and enormous paintings surrounded us. But I didn’t think Sergeant Wilkins saw them.

    He hadn’t expected this awkwardness, that was clear enough, but there was no way around it. One of the footmen leaned over and said something I couldn’t catch as they set down the invalid chair.

    The sergeant’s face cleared, and he smiled.

    Another man in dress uniform met us there, taking over from the footmen, giving us the instructions we needed before proceeding to an antechamber where we were to wait until all of the recipients had arrived. Around us were men on crutches, others using canes, and quite a few in invalid chairs like Sergeant Wilkins’s. Most of them were accompanied by family members, and I wondered if any of the sergeant’s family planned to attend. So far no one had come up to us.

    I also saw a number of men and women in sober black, standing apart, a mixture of pride and grief in their drawn faces. They were to receive medals given posthumously to husbands, brothers, and sons. I felt a wave of sadness.

    Wilkins was less nervous now, in spite of the grandeur of this room, and I cast a quick glance over his uniform and his bandages, making certain that everything was as it should be after the short journey.

    Watching me, the sergeant said, Do I pass muster?

    Indeed you do. Quite handsomely.

    The doors at the far end of the antechamber opened, and we were led into the Audience Chamber, where the ceremony would take place. It was a regal crimson and gold, intended to impress those who were to be honored, to show how they were valued by their King and Country. At a little distance from the throne, rows of chairs had been set out for the men who would be decorated, and a second section was set aside for family members. I found there was a space waiting for the sergeant’s invalid chair, with a seat next to it for me. All the rows were soon filled.

    We were given final instructions. I saw that I was the only Sister present, and I sat there quietly, waiting to stand behind my charge when the King entered. Sergeant Wilkins was trying to look around him without appearing to stare, and I hoped he was savoring the moment. Or was he looking for someone?

    Is your family here? I quietly asked him. If they were coming, they were very nearly going to be late.

    Alas, no, he said briefly.

    And then behind us the great doors we’d come through were closed, and in a few moments, the King walked into the room from another door.

    He was in full uniform, his beard carefully trimmed, but nothing could disguise the circles beneath his eyes or the lines in his face. Instead of ascending his throne, as I’d expected him to, he stood before us with only his equerries and a handful of officers in attendance.

    The ceremony moved forward with dignity, the announcements of name and award and a brief summary of the act of heroism were made clearly, the men stepping forward one at a time, spending a brief moment in private conversation with their grateful sovereign, and then moving back to the rows of seats.

    When our turn came, I gently pushed the chair forward so that the sergeant was directly in front of the King. An equerry removed the decoration from its polished wooden box and passed it to the King.

    He stepped forward, bent down without in any way embarrassing a man who could not rise and bow, and pinned the medal to the pocket of his blouse. Straightening again, the King spoke to Sergeant Wilkins.

    We hope your wounds are healing well? Are you in any pain?

    They are healing, Your Majesty, and the pain is bearable. I look forward to rejoining my regiment as soon as possible.

    The King nodded. Your country is grateful for your courage and your fortitude. The Queen and I have visited so many hospitals, and we know the cost of this war. We wish you well, Sergeant. And a speedy recovery.

    Thank you, Sir.

    The King turned to me. I wasn’t expecting to be noticed.

    Sister Crawford. Remember me to your father. I have known the Colonel for some time, and he has served his country well in this war.

    Thank you, Sir. I shall be happy to tell him.

    The King nodded, and I moved the wheeled chair back to its original place as the next recipient was summoned to be decorated.

    Sergeant Wilkins cast me an interested glance, then turned back to the ceremony. Some twenty minutes later, the audience was over. The King was escorted from the room, and then the men turned to meet their families and be congratulated, touched tearfully by wives and mothers, hands heartily shaken by their proud fathers.

    There was no family to congratulate Sergeant Wilkins, and so I said the words for them.

    He seemed surprised, then thanked me. I thought he was tiring, sitting for so long in his chair, cushions notwithstanding, and as I began to push him toward the tall double doors, they opened as if at a signal, and someone was there to see to it that we were guided to the portico and our motorcar summoned from the queue.

    It was not until he was settled in the rear seat and we were moving sedately toward the opening Palace gates that Sergeant Wilkins said, I didn’t know your father was a Colonel.

    He’s retired from active service, I said evasively.

    But he’s in uniform, he still serves his country. According to the King. He turned to look at me as we passed through the gates.

    Everyone was in uniform. Even the wounded had special ones to wear while recuperating to show the world they had done their duty.

    Still, even though my father—and Simon—had left the regiment, because of their vast experience both of them had been recalled to duty in 1914, ostensibly to help in the training of badly needed new recruits with no military experience. Of course it went far beyond that, although not even my mother knew precisely what either of them did. More than once I’d encountered Simon in France, when he was on some mission or other.

    Yes, he was very happy when the Army found a use for him, although I daresay he’d have been much happier if they’d sent him back to the regiment, I answered lightly. I think he misses that.

    Whatever my father—and Simon—were doing to help King and Country, it was kept quiet. They appeared and disappeared without warning, and I knew it was not something to be talked about.

    But Sergeant Wilkins didn’t say anything more.

    We drove in silence to The Monarch Hotel, and there he was lifted once more into his chair and I wheeled him across Reception to the lift. Several people noticed us and there was a smattering of applause as we passed, an account of our afternoon having made the rounds.

    The sergeant nodded his thanks, but I thought he would have preferred not to be such a center of attention. I’d found this to be true of many decorated men. They had done what they had done for their comrades, not for public acclaim.

    The lift doors closed on us and he sighed with relief. That was unexpected.

    I’m sure the hotel was pleased to have you staying here.

    I’m no hero, he said sharply. What I did had to be done. And there was an end to it.

    I didn’t answer him. The lift doors opened, and we moved down the passage to his room.

    When I got him there, he said, Don’t fuss. Please.

    Your bandages are fresh. There’s a list of medications on the table. I’ll see what you ought to be taking just now.

    Sister Crawford.

    I turned toward him.

    Please. I have a few friends who would like to step in tonight. Nothing more than a brief word. If I take my powders now, and rest awhile, will you allow me to speak to them? I’m returning to hospital tomorrow, early. It will be my only chance.

    There’s your dinner, I pointed out.

    I’m not hungry. I ate a very good breakfast and had an excellent lunch. Thompson saw to that. I’d rather just—these men were—I haven’t seen them since I was wounded and left France. His voice cracked. They recovered faster than I did, and they’re sailing themselves in a matter of days. Surely you understand?

    I wasn’t happy about this. Still, his wounds had healed well enough for him to make the journey to London. And there had been no one at the ceremony from his family. Perhaps seeing men he’d served with would be just the thing. Sometimes healing the body also meant healing the mind. Something was troubling him. It was in his eyes, in the lines about his mouth. And not just the grim lines of pain.

    There will be no drinking, no carousing.

    He smiled wryly. I give you my word. Besides … He shrugged. It’s not a time for that, is it?

    With reluctance, I let him have his way. I’ll come back at nine o’clock, shall I, to see if you need anything. And to give you your last powder. I’ll expect your friends to be gone by that time. You’ve a long day ahead of you tomorrow, traveling.

    Better still, leave the next powder by my cup. I’ll take it after my friends go. You can trust me to do it right. God knows, I’ve been taking them long enough.

    I had the briefest frisson of fear. He wasn’t planning on doing himself harm, was he? The powders could kill, in the wrong amount.

    As if he understood what I was thinking, he added, I have every reason to live, Sister. I just have to heal first.

    It was against the rules to let him take his own powders. And I said as much.

    There’s your duty. I understand. All right, come in at nine o’clock if you must. I don’t mind. There was resignation in his voice.

    He’d been cooped up in hospital for months. And sometimes a little relaxation of the rules could give a patient a fresh start, renewing his belief in his recovery and his eventual return to duty. It was what so many of them wanted.

    I warned, If you’re foolish tonight, you could set back your recovery by weeks. Months even. You’ve come too far to take that risk.

    He said, his voice level and yet forceful, A medal doesn’t buy me a place on a transport ship. Only the doctor can do that.

    It was reassuring. I took a deep breath. I was responsible for his welfare—but I was not his jailer.

    I put the powder by his cup. Then I got him into bed, gave him his afternoon medicines, and handed him the book he’d been reading. I’ll leave the lamp on beside your bed. When the last friend says good night, he can see to it for you, if you like. If he’s sober enough to find the door in the dark.

    Sergeant Wilkins laughed. They’re not much for drinking. My friends. We’ve been through too much. Besides, it doesn’t help. Terry will probably be the last to leave. And he can find his way anywhere in the dark.

    Good enough, I replied, and then, with one last glance around, I started for the door.

    Could you move the water jug closer to hand? Several of those powders leave me thirsty.

    I moved the jug to where he could easily reach it, and he lifted his good hand in a friendly wave, settling back against his pillows as I walked to the door.

    I closed it behind me, and went on down the passage to my own room.

    Simon was waiting there for me.

    Did it go well? The ceremony?

    Very well. I told him what had transpired, and then added what the King had had to say about the Colonel Sahib.

    Simon smiled. He’ll be pleased. Shall I tell him, or will you?

    I don’t think I’ll see him before I sail. I leave very early Thursday morning.

    And what about your patient? Are you having his dinner sent up to him?

    I explained what we, Sergeant Wilkins and I, had decided.

    A little unusual, isn’t it?

    "Very. On the other hand, his injuries aren’t critical just now, or the Palace would have waited to summon him for the ceremony. This is just that slow, wearing time when there appears to be no progress. And then suddenly your exercises begin, and you wish yourself back in this limbo."

    As I know very well, Simon replied wryly. He’d been severely wounded not all that long ago. If you have no other plans, I’ll take you to dinner.

    I’d rather stay close to the hotel, I said. There’s a dining room downstairs.

    Simon rose from his chair. Then I’ll give you a little time to rest, and return around six. A little early perhaps, but if you’re to look in on the sergeant later this evening, we shan’t have to dash upstairs at the last minute.

    I was grateful for his understanding.

    He left, and kicking off my shoes, removing my apron and cap, I sat down in the chair that Simon had just vacated and sighed.

    This brief interlude had brought me a little more time in England, but by Thursday I’d be eager to return to my duties in France. It was where my years of training and experience counted in the endless struggle to save lives. It had been difficult, exhausting, and stressful work often enough, and all of us in Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service had had bad dreams from time to time, dreams we tried not to remember in the light of morning. But knowing we’d made a difference kept us going.

    I must have drifted into a light sleep. And then my internal clock woke me at a little before five thirty. I was dressed and ready when Simon knocked on my door just at six.

    He smiled and said, I expected to find you asleep.

    I returned the smile. After visiting Buckingham Palace? How could I sleep? I replied, stepping out into the passage. It was quiet. I glanced down toward the sergeant’s door, but all was quiet in that direction as well. If his friends were coming, they’d been thoughtful enough to give him time to rest before descending on him. That was reassuring.

    We went down to the hotel’s dining room, where Simon had already booked a table, and it was a pleasant dinner. I wished my mother could have been there—she would have enjoyed the outing—but Simon and I were always comfortable together.

    We were still sitting there, talking over our after-dinner cup of tea, when Simon glanced at his watch and said, It’s nearly nine o’clock. Go on up and look in on your patient. I’ll see to the account and then escort you safely to your room.

    I did just that, taking the lift and walking down to Sergeant Wilkins’s door. It was quiet, and I knocked softly.

    There was no answer. And I couldn’t see a light under the door. His friends had come and gone, he was asleep.

    I tried the door, found it locked. Frowning, I tried it again. This time it opened, as if it had been jammed, and I stepped into the doorway, listening.

    I could just see the outline of Sergeant Wilkins’s body under the coverlet, but his breathing was so quiet and deep that I could hardly be sure I heard it.

    Had he taken his powder, as he’d promised? After his friends had left?

    On the floor next to the table by the bed, a crumpled bit of white paper lay, as if he’d accidently brushed it off as he put down his cup. Yes, all was well.

    I listened a few seconds longer, then, satisfied, I closed the door again quite gently and walked on toward my own room. Simon was just stepping out of the lift.

    All well?

    Yes, he’s asleep. I didn’t disturb him. He’s taken his evening powder, as he’d promised he would.

    Good. All right, go inside and lock your door. I’ll come by tomorrow after you’ve seen the patient off to Shrewsbury. I’ll even take you to lunch.

    Done. Thank you for dinner, I said, and went into my room. I’d brought a book with me from Somerset and tried to read for a while, but I was in bed by ten thirty. The deep fatigue of France hadn’t quite left me, or perhaps it was the excitement of the ceremony at the Palace. At any rate, I was asleep before the hands on my little clock reached eleven.

    CHAPTER THREE

    WHEN I OPENED my eyes, I met my first bad news of the day. The sunny weather had broken, and rain was coming down hard, barely letting in the early morning light.

    Oh, dear, I thought, wishing I could turn over and sleep for another hour. But I had duties to perform. I threw back the coverlet, and got out of bed.

    By eight o’clock, I had gone down to my breakfast. Simon and I had arranged last night for tea and toast to be taken up to Sergeant Wilkins at seven thirty, just as the orderly, Thompson, had done for the previous morning.

    It was there, in the hotel dining room, that I received my second bit of bad news.

    The desk clerk walked in, looked around, found my table, and came over to me with an envelope in his hands.

    A messenger brought this just now, Sister Crawford. For you.

    Thank you, I said, taking it

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