An Unmarked Grave: A Bess Crawford Mystery (Bess Crawford Mysteries) by Charles Todd

Author:Charles Todd [Todd, Charles]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harper Collins, Inc.
Published: 2012-06-05T06:00:00+00:00

I was glad to see my next transport waiting just beyond the port—an ambulance packed with supplies to replace the depleted stocks of aid units closer to the Front. The driver was someone I didn’t know, a taciturn man who told me his name was Sam and we were late already, Sister, so don’t dawdle, please, Miss.

I took the seat beside the driver, my valise tucked into a tiny space in the back, and we set out, steadily moving north as the roads, the traffic, and the terrain allowed. I asked what news he had of the war, and he said, “The Germans are winning all along the line. That’s what it feels like, Sister, when I drive the dying here.”

It was a bleak assessment, and I hoped that it was wrong. The Americans were supposed to be turning the balance toward the Allies. We fell silent and I watched the trains of mules and guns and columns of troops making their way toward the shooting, and the line of wounded being transported to the rear in Rouen. There had been heavy rain the day before, according to Sam, and the roads were a morass. We bumped and jerked and skidded over them until my head was beginning to ache from all the jolting. There was nothing for it but to endure.

At length we were close enough to the trenches that in the darkness I could actually see the muzzle flashes. The noise was deafening. When we reached the aid station, I could pick out the long line of wounded standing or lying on stretchers outside the nearest tent, and a doctor with a haggard face looked up anxiously as he heard the rumble of the ambulance coming in, and then shouted to me, “Hurry!”

There was no time to find my tent or change my clothes. I left my coat and valise in a corner, borrowed an apron from someone, and began to sort the cases as they arrived. The driver was offloading supplies, and hands were reaching for bandages and septic powder almost as quickly as they were unpacked.

Hours later, when I was finally replaced, I walked out into the pale light of another dawn.

Working those long hours had cost me dearly, for my parents were right, I wasn’t at full strength yet. The clinic had been almost too easy, with its regular hours and quiet evenings. And now, too tired to sleep, I nursed a cup of tea in the cool of sunrise and considered the problem of finding the elusive Colonel Prescott.

I could hardly go about asking officers who came to the aid station if they had served under him. I knew too well how quickly word got around.

Whoever he was, how could he have known when he wrote that glowing letter to Julia that Major Carson was dead, unless he had had something to do with whatever had happened? Why else would he have written it, except to allay worry at home? It had sounded genuine enough, compassionate, sympathetic.

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