The Care and Management of Lies by Jacqueline Winspear

Author:Jacqueline Winspear [Winspear, Jacqueline]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2013-03-11T07:00:00+00:00

Edmund Hawkes sat at his desk in a tent, one tent in an encampment of tents. He was safe, for now, unless shelling reached this place, a farm chosen for its seclusion behind the lines. Seclusion was, of course, a relative concept, for the trees—those still standing—were bare of all foliage, and there were orders to go up the line again in forty-eight hours. Another push. Push and shove, thought Hawkes. Push here, shoved back, push forwards, shoved sideways—shove them, and we’re pushed. And in the middle of all that pushing and shoving, men—his men—would lie dead. Men that lay buried, now, in hasty graves; bodies wrapped in ground sheets and set in the cold, wet earth. Only the words of a soldier’s prayer to see them on their way, so far from home and love.

“Sir!”

Hawkes looked up. A month ago he might have felt inept, inadequate, and ill prepared when facing a sergeant with years in uniform, but now all care had left him.

“Sergeant Knowles. Good. At ease, Knowles.”

“Sir!” Knowles eyed Edmund Hawkes and saw a man beyond intimidation.

“Right. How are your raw recruits to the game?” Edmund Hawkes looked directly at Knowles.

Knowles appeared to bristle when he heard the word game. Hawkes understood that Knowles was an army man through and through, and that he had only so much time to knock his lads into shape, to knead them into a fighting corps, a body willing and able to take a man’s life, and to die. Recruits should have had a year of training, but for some it had been whittled down to not much more than a month. It was no game to Knowles. And Hawkes knew that Knowles considered him just one more new officer, raw and disillusioned—another enlisted man to be trained up enough to save his own life.

“All present and correct, and ready for the Hun, sir.”

“Well, that is good news.” Hawkes ran a finger down the list. “I know some of these men—come from the same village. I—”

“Sir?”

“This chap—Brissenden. How’s he shaping up?”

“Not one of the best, sir.”

“I’m surprised. He’s a farmer, a good worker. He didn’t have to enlist, he’s got a farm to run.”

“Sir.” Knowles made no other comment.

“What’s the problem?”

“Couple of incidents, sir. Troublemaker, I would say. Didn’t like the food, sir.”

“I don’t think any of us like the food, Knowles.”

“Didn’t keep it to himself, sir. Gets the men going, comments about the ration.”

“Well, we’ll see how he gets on here. Not that we’ll all be here for long. Anything else?” Hawkes looked up when there was no immediate response. “Sergeant Knowles? Anything else?”

“Private Brissenden. Personal letters—very odd, sir. Not good for morale, I would say.”

Hawkes felt a wave of fatigue flood his body. He wanted nothing more than a hot bath, a soft bed, and a good meal. “Describe how the letters are ‘odd,’ if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Well, he reads them out—the men ask him to. But it makes them dissatisfied, to my mind. And that sort of thing can cause trouble.

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