A Duty To The Dead Part 21

"I've considered it," I said slowly. "Perhaps to call on Dr. Philips."

The words lingered in the air like the morning mists, going nowhere.

Jonathan Graham frowned. I realized, too late, that it sounded as if I were pursuing the good doctor, a very bold thing for a single woman to do. My mother would have been appalled. I could feel my face flush as it was.

Trying to recover, I said, "We had a professional connection, in regard to Ted Booker and cases like his."

The frown deepened.

I took the plunge. "You weren't called at the inquest, and I can't help but wonder why. You visited Mr. Booker, didn't you, the night before he was found."

I managed to make it sound like a doc.u.mented fact.

"All right. Yes, I did. I felt-a fellow invalid's compa.s.sion."

He'd hardly shown compa.s.sion when he'd called Ted Booker a coward.

"I've wondered why you didn't speak up at the inquest. It could have given all of us a clearer picture of his state of mind later in the evening."

"I spoke to the police. I told them he was asleep when I got there. That I'd turned around and left straightaway."

I couldn't have said why, but I didn't believe him.

And why had Ted Booker killed himself, if he could sleep?

"I'm sorry," I said. "I truly believed he'd turned the corner. It's heart wrenching, to lose a patient."

"As you lost Arthur."

Touche.

"Do you know when you'll return to France?" I asked him.

"They remove the bandages tomorrow," he said. "It should have been sooner, but there was concern about infection. Thank G.o.d, their worry was misplaced. Another week, and I'll be declared fit."

"I wish you well. Good-bye, Lieutenant Graham."

I held out my hand and he shook it.

"Good-bye, Miss Crawford."

I went upstairs and knocked on Peregrine's door. He was dressed and shaved, preparing to meet me in the dining room for breakfast.

"Jonathan is here in this same hotel," I told him in a low voice. "It would be best if we left for London as soon as we can find a train."

"Jonathan?"

"Yes, he's here to see his doctors. They expect to remove his bandages tomorrow. That means he'll be in and out, and we're likely to run into him."

"I didn't know he'd been wounded."

"Across the face. It's going to leave a terrible scar."

"I'd have liked to join the army."

"Be glad you were spared," I said shortly. "I'll go and see about tickets. But it might be best if you stayed here, in your room, until we're ready to leave."

"Jonathan won't recognize me. Not after all these years."

"I wouldn't wager your freedom on it."

"No."

He closed his door and I went to the station, found that there were tickets for the morning train, and before Tonbridge was stirring, we were on our way back to London.

Once on the train, I drew a sigh of relief. It wouldn't have done for Jonathan Graham to find me with Peregrine. It was dawning on me that the cost of helping this man could well be my reputation. Was there a law forbidding aiding a desperate fugitive from an asylum? I shuddered to think.

As we were nearing London, Peregrine opened his eyes and turned to me.

"Will your friend be at the flat?"

"Diana?" I felt a chill. "I-don't know. Why?"

"She's very pretty."

Oh, dear.

He was saying, "The only women I've seen for nearly fifteen years are other inmates and matrons. I've noticed too how the world has left me behind. The women are dressed very differently, there are more men in uniform than in civilian clothes-only the very old and the very young aren't, in fact. There are more automobiles, and very different ones at that. And this morning, while I was waiting for you, there was a flight of aeroplanes I could see from my window. I feel like a stranger in my own country. It's daunting, frightening, and fascinating, all in one."

I could imagine. Peregrine had managed remarkably well. I was beginning to realize the tragedy of his childhood. Mrs. Graham had done a cruel thing, whether out of maliciousness or out of an honest belief that he was different, I couldn't tell. Mr. Appleby had aided and abetted her treatment of Peregrine, the fault was surely not entirely hers.

We were arriving in London. Back in the crowded, anonymous world of people who had things on their minds other than spotting my companion and taking him back to his jailers.

How do you make up for a lost life? I couldn't think of a way.

Diana was delighted to see us, demanding to borrow Peregrine for an hour that evening, to escort her to a dinner party. He flatly refused, and she was hurt, saying to me later, "He's the most attractive male I've seen in weeks, and the only whole one as well."

"I've promised to see that he doesn't overdo. Next visit, he'll be well on his way to recovery."

"I think you merely want to keep him for yourself."

I laughed. Little did she know. But I didn't want a blossoming romance on Diana's side or any temptation on Peregrine's. After all, by his own admission he'd killed one young woman. Whether it was true or not.

There was a knock at the door, and I went to open it, thinking that Elayne must be back and had forgot her key again. She'd find a man in her bed. But knowing Elayne, she'd be amused and not angry.

It was my father standing there on the threshold, concern on his face.

"I came to see you yesterday. Your mother was worried. Your friend told me that you'd gone to Kent. Back to Owlhurst?"

My mouth had dropped open at the sight of him. I shut it. Over my shoulder, Diana said, "Ah. I forgot to tell you that your father was in town."

My father smiled. "I can see that you did. Er-am I to wait on the threshold, or am I allowed into your flat?"

"Come in, of course," I said, but one part of my mind was praying that Peregrine, hearing a male voice, would stay where he was, in Elayne's room. All my father had to see was that uniform, and Peregrine would be finished. "Is Mama with you?"

The Colonel Sahib stepped in, his frame filling the room in a way I hadn't remembered before.

Guilty conscience, a voice in my head pointed out. a voice in my head pointed out.

"She's at home. I needed to be in London for a few hours and wanted to ask if you'd decided to come home again. We could travel together."

I said in a distracted way, "I'm thinking of staying on a few more days."

"Do you feel your social calendar might accommodate an elderly relative desirous of your company at lunch?"

I smiled in relief. "If the elderly relative is my father-of course."

For an instant I thought he was about to ask Diana to join us. But she said, "I've things to do to get myself ready. Go, and leave me to see to them."

And then I was instantly suspicious. Had she and the Colonel planned this between them?

I said, "Let me fetch my coat," and all but ran to my room. I found paper and pen, jotted a brief message for Peregrine, telling him that I'd be back as quickly as I could, and was ushering my father out the door in short order.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

MY FATHER HAD his motorcar waiting, with a familiar driver. I'd grown up knowing Simon Brandon. He'd been in and out of the house so often that my mother said that she felt he must be related. From lowly soldier-servant to my officer father, he had risen to the heights of his profession: regimental sergeant major. There were not many people who argued with him. My father was one, and I was the other. his motorcar waiting, with a familiar driver. I'd grown up knowing Simon Brandon. He'd been in and out of the house so often that my mother said that she felt he must be related. From lowly soldier-servant to my officer father, he had risen to the heights of his profession: regimental sergeant major. There were not many people who argued with him. My father was one, and I was the other.

Simon greeted me warmly, as if he hadn't seen me in many months, though I'd had lunch with him in his cottage a few days before I'd left for Kent.

He helped me into the rear seat, and my father followed me. Simon closed the door, resumed his place behind the wheel, and my father asked, "Where would you like to dine, my dear?"

"Your choice. Most of the restaurants are struggling to survive these days."

He gave Simon instructions, and we drove off. The streets were crowded, and the weather was fair for a change, though cold.

"In your haste," my father was saying, "you forgot your gloves."

I grimaced. So I had. Depend on the Colonel Sahib to notice.

"Tell me about the visit to Kent."

"It went very well. I honed my nursing skills on a man with pneumonia-who lived-and another with sh.e.l.l shock, who didn't."

He raised his eyebrows at that. "And how did you find the Grahams? Did they take your message in the spirit Arthur had intended?"

"I don't think they did," I said honestly. "I was disappointed in that."

"Perhaps they disagreed with young Arthur."

"It appeared they did."

"Bess."

I knew what was coming.

"You don't look well. I think Kent was perhaps too much too soon. How is the arm?"

"Healing. I can do a little more each day."

"Then if it isn't your arm that's worrying you, what is?"

Oh, yes, I could hear myself now telling my father of all people that I was harboring an escaped lunatic in my flat and that we'd had a brief journey back to Kent in each other's company to find out what had possessed him to do b.l.o.o.d.y murder when he was only fourteen.

Instead I said, "I'm learning that you can't save everyone in this world. I thought that my sh.e.l.l-shocked patient was convinced that he could heal. And I was wrong."

"Yes, well, sometimes there are miracles, and sometimes there are not."

Peregrine surviving had been a miracle. And I was paying for it even now.

I said, "Let's not talk about guessing wrong."

He said nothing more until we'd reached the small restaurant not far from St. Paul's. I'd been to The Regent's Table only once, and the food had been good. That was before the war.

Women had been warned that they must do their part against the Hun. That they must sacrifice their men, their comfort, their necessities, and anything that brought them pleasure. That included most foodstuffs. G.o.d knew what even the chef at such a restaurant could do with the only cuts of meat available in wartime.

Simon joined us as soon as he'd seen to the motorcar, and we enjoyed a table set in one of the windows, with a view down to the street below. My father ordered for me, and Simon made his own choices.

I'd been right. The mutton was as old as the Kaiser and nearly as difficult, but the wine sauce was exquisite.

My father waited until we were nearly finished with our meal, and then said to me, "I want to take you back to Somerset with me. Will you come? I find it hard to know what could be keeping you in London. I can understand that after such a difficult time in Owlhurst, you might need a day or two to settle yourself. Your mother wants your opinion on cuffs and collars and G.o.d knows what."

"I can't leave just at the moment," I told him. "Please don't ask me why."

"Why not? Bess, you can talk to me. Simon will leave if you wish, and you can tell me what's put those circles under your eyes and the strain in them. I'm not imagining things-and if you're fair, you'll understand my concern."

I went rapidly through all the problems facing me at the moment and chose the one least likely to worry either the Colonel Sahib or Simon Brandon.