An Unwilling Accomplice (2 page)

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.”