The Rest is Silence (Billy Boyle World War II Mystery) (21 page)

“I heard Peter left?” I asked into the chilled atmosphere.

“Yes, and without a word to anyone,” Great Aunt Sylvia said. “Most impolite, unless we receive a note with the afternoon post.”

“He might have been called away suddenly,” I offered.

“There have been no telephone calls,” Meredith said. “He simply vanished this morning. All he left behind was an unfinished painting.”

I downed some coffee and excused myself, feeling an interloper, especially without Kaz to smooth things over. I found him, along with David, already making their way to the jeep.

“Ah, there you are Billy,” David said. “I couldn’t face them this morning, sorry to have almost left you behind.”

“I understand,” I said, feeling more sorry for David Martindale than ever before. Not the burns, but the loneliness amidst a house full of people.

A
T
G
REENWAY
H
OUSE
, we delivered David to Colonel Harding’s office. He was nervous but eager, and we wished him luck. “Let’s find Peter,” I said.

No luck. Not in his office, according to the guard at the door. Same for his room. The officer of the day said he hadn’t signed in from his leave and still had a day left, so why should he be here?

Sensible guy.

We checked the mess hall and walked the corridors until we
saw a name we recognized. Lieutenant James Siebert had his own office with a nameplate on the door. I knocked and entered, only to find it was a nice-sized broom closet. Kaz could barely follow me in.

“What can I do for you, Captain?” Siebert glanced at my rank, deciding on the level of politeness necessary for one rank above him. He got it about right.

“Have you seen Peter Wiley today?”

“Keep that kid away from me,” Siebert said. “He’s got a one-track mind, and I’ve got a mind to take another crack at him.” Siebert’s khakis were rumpled, and he looked like he might have shaved in the dark. Papers and binders were strewn across his desk and stacked up in the tiny room. He made me think of a monk in his cell.

“One-track in terms of getting on a ship?” I asked.

“Captain, it’s probably none of your business,” Siebert said. “So let’s not get into details. But if he says he needs perspective one more time, I’ll deck him again.”

“We all could use some perspective, Lieutenant,” I said.

“What I could use is another pair of hands and ten extra hours in the day,” Siebert said. “Will that be all, sir?”

It was. It was clear he didn’t like Peter, and that he hadn’t seen him. Neither meant much. We went to the mess and had coffee, then walked out to the jeep, where we found David.

“How did it go?” Kaz asked. Given the dark look on David’s face, the question wasn’t even necessary.

D
AVID SAID
H
ARDING
had been gracious, but it had become obvious he was not up to the task. His eyesight was worse than he’d thought, and he couldn’t make out many of the photographs even with a magnifying glass. After that he sat in silence for the ride back, and we let him be.

“Best to get it over with,” he said as we approached the front door of Ashcroft House. “They’re probably in the morning room.” We dutifully followed.

“David, is it really too much to ask that you let someone know where you go off to?” Helen said as soon as he entered the room. She blushed, as if she hadn’t meant to say it out loud and had been thinking far worse. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking at the rest of us. “I was worried, that’s all.”

“My fault, really,” David said, taking Helen by the hand and leaning in for a kiss on the cheek. She leaned away and sat next to her sister. “I wanted it to be a pleasant surprise, but it turned out not to be.”

“We could have used a pleasant surprise around here, David,” Great Aunt Sylvia said. “Please do entertain us with what might have been.”

“You know I held little hope for any assignment with the RAF,” David said. “But Billy convinced his colonel to let me have a go at a photographic interpretation job. Would have been perfect, too, at a place called Greenway House, right across the river, where Peter is stationed.”

“Did you see him?” Meredith asked.

“No. I didn’t. Too busy with Colonel Harding,” David said. “Well, no matter. I washed out. Seems my one good eye is not as good as I thought. Couldn’t make out fine details. It’s very precise work, and I simply missed too much.”

“Tough luck,” Edgar said. “You’re sure about the RAF?”

“Fairly certain, yes,” David said, his eyes on Helen, who remained silent, her ankles crossed demurely, lips compressed as if she was working at keeping in another unseemly outburst.

“Perhaps another opportunity will come along,” Kaz said as he sat down. “It’s a matter of finding the right one.”

“Oh, come on, Piotr,” David said, loudly, his self-control at the breaking point. “It’s not like looking for the right flat. No one needs a one-eyed ex-pilot, certainly not one as grotesque as I am.”

“Self-pity does not become you, David,” Great Aunt Sylvia said. “It is not how this family behaves.”

“Quite right. My apologies to you all,” David said, taking a deep breath. “I must admit, I was taken aback by this business about my vision. I can read a newspaper as well as I used to, or at least I thought
I could. But to find out that in fact I see more poorly now is a bit of a shock.”

“Quite understandable,” Meredith said. “Don’t you agree, Helen?”

“Of course,” Helen said. “And we shall have plenty to keep ourselves busy here, no matter what the RAF decides.”

“Here?” David said.

“Of course,” Meredith said. “Who else would Father have left Ashcroft to? There are so many things he left untended during his years in India. There will be much work to do, and Edgar will be busy writing his book, won’t you, dear?”

“Indeed I will,” Edgar piped up. “A monograph on life and death in the last moments of
Hamlet
. I have been researching it for years. I plan to begin as soon as the funeral is over. Baron, perhaps we could discuss the play later. I’d be interested in hearing your perspective.”

“Kaz,” I said, recalling that the old king’s wife had at least waited a couple of months before moving on to other endeavors, “what was that quote you wanted to ask Edgar about?”

“Oh yes, I had forgotten,” Kaz said. “ ‘He that dies pays all debts.’ Which play is it from?”

“
The Tempest
,” Edgar said instantly. “Act three, scene two. How did that one come up? Not a well-known line.”

Great Aunt Sylvia turned to look at Meredith. Was she thinking of Rupert Sutcliffe, and the debts his death had paid?

“Oh, it popped into my mind yesterday and I meant to ask you about it. I’d be quite interested in hearing about your work, Edgar,” Kaz said, wisely not mentioning the fact that we’d been discussing Tom Quick and his lust for revenge.

“My thesis is a bit esoteric,” Edgar began. “It’s about the last lines of
Hamlet
, when he says with his dying voice, ‘the rest is silence.’ Quite final on the subject of heaven and life after death. But in the 1623 Folio, there is a different final line. ‘The rest is silence. O, o, o, o.’ As if the poor lad had caught a glimpse of something grand, a thing beyond silence.”

“You plan to write an entire book about four os?” I asked.

“It may not mean much to the average person, especially in the
midst of war, I admit,” Edgar said. “But to an Elizabethan scholar, it is very important. I believe this was Shakespeare’s own revision, his last statement on the emptiness that lies beyond the grave.
Hamlet
is suffused with guilt and death, perhaps reflecting the Bard’s own view of the world. But later in life, I think he saw a greater possibility—the potential for resurrection—and added those exclamations as an antidote to the finality of the preceding line.”

“Fascinating,” Kaz said. “I had not known of that revision.”

“It also appears in a 1603 Folio, so we know it predates Shakespeare’s death. I’ll show you a copy later,” Edgar said, retreating to his chair, looking mildly embarrassed about his brief speech.

David pulled a chair closer to Helen. “What do you think of a future here at Ashcroft House?”

“I’m glad Edgar will finally have a chance to write his book,” Helen said with indifference, staring straight ahead.

“You know I mean about staying on here,” David said in a low voice, his eyes zeroing in on Helen as if she were a Me-109 in his sights. I could almost feel his teeth clench.

“Where else would we go, dear?” Helen said, turning to face him. “What else can we do?” She said it calmly. Perhaps it was her idea. Or Meredith’s. Either way, it had a ring of certainty to it. There was meaning in how she looked at David, without flinching or averting of her eyes. The signaling of a truce? A partnership? I hoped for David’s sake it was sincere. But she’d been upset about something a minute ago. What had that been all about? Maybe it wasn’t a truce. Resignation, perhaps. To her new life and David’s ruined face.

Williams entered to announce a call on the telephone for Lady Pemberton from Doctor Phillips.

“He knows I do not speak through that machine,” Great Aunt Sylvia said emphatically. “Meredith, would you?”

Meredith nodded somberly and went to do her duty.

“Doctor Phillips has released the body,” she said a few minutes later, standing in the doorway with her hands folded in front of her, as if giving a lecture. “The cause of death was definitely a heart attack. We are apparently free to proceed with the funeral.” It was interesting
that she used the word “definitely.” Had anyone else but me suspected foul play? Not that I’d taken the idea seriously, but perhaps someone else had. The last sentence was dripping with sarcasm, the disdain of the upper class for the procedures of mere officialdom. Meredith had tried on the role of lady of the manor and found it fit her well.

“We should see the vicar,” Helen said.

“Certainly,” David answered. His eyes darted back to Helen. He seemed surprised that she was still looking in his direction. “Are there any other living relatives?”

“None on the Sutcliffe side,” Great Aunt Sylvia said. “There was a cousin in Yorkshire or some other dreary northern place. Died after the last war, I think.”

“I will check Father’s papers in his study to be sure,” Meredith said. “Then, in the morning, Helen and I will call upon the vicar.” Great Aunt Sylvia gave her an approving nod. Meredith stood, a solid Pemberton look of satisfaction on her face. There were things to be done, and she was the one to do them.

A
T DINNER
, D
AVID
was in fine form, telling stories of North Africa and his mates in the RAF. Nothing about burns, crash landings, or empty bunks after a mission, but rather high jinks and pranks, the kind of thing families like to hear, as if their young men were all delightful scamps away at summer camp. He told a story about a German pilot who’d been shot down and was a guest in their mess before he was taken away to a POW camp. Knights of the sky, that sort of thing. Helen laughed and touched his arm, which was nice to see, but these white lies were almost too much to bear. I wanted to scream, to tell them about the young boys recently killed and maimed on a beach not far away, their bodies cold and decaying as we sat eating whiting with carrots. I caught Kaz’s eye, and he gave the tiniest of shrugs before taking a healthy drink of wine. He was glad David was in good spirits, I was sure, but I could tell the sudden change in David was bothering him too. A day or so ago, he’d been desperate to find a job that would keep him in uniform and out of Ashcroft. Today, when he should have
been down in the dumps, he was the life of the party. Something was wrong.

“David,” Kaz said, taking advantage of a break in the conversation, “I heard something of the local dialect at the pub last night. I had no idea it was so colorful.”

“The fellows had a fine time at my expense, first time I went there,” Edgar said. “It was good-natured fun, as far as I could tell.”

“You didn’t bore them with Shakespeare while spending our money, did you, darling?” Meredith said with a roll of her eyes.

“ ‘Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?’ ” Edgar said, with a wink toward Kaz.

“Edgar!” Meredith exclaimed, aware that the barb was directed at her.

“Sir Toby, in
Twelfth Night
, is it not?” Kaz asked, an appreciative grin on his face. Edgar raised his glass to him and then graciously to Meredith, who leveled her eyes at Edgar as she returned the toast. The whole table was in top form tonight.

“What did they say?” David asked, returning to the topic of the local dialect. “I can’t say I’m familiar with West Country idioms.”

“Something about appen the janner and the shord,” Kaz said.

“Appen the janner will find the shord,” I said. “That was the gist of it.”

“Perhaps the seaman will find the gap in the hedge,” Great Aunt Sylvia said from her end of the table. “
Janner
could mean a fisherman, anyone who makes their living from the sea. It’s an old word, which has become corrupted to mean almost anyone in Devon, and not in a flattering light.”

“Interesting,” David said. “But what’s that about a gap in the hedge?”

“I believe it refers to one who can make his way through cleverness,” Meredith said. “Finding a route no one else has, that sort of thing. David, you should make an appearance at the pub, after the funeral, of course. I’m sure Edgar would be more than pleased to go as well. It’s expected.”

“Lords of the manor, eh, Edgar?” David said, raising his glass. The
white wine leapt within the clear crystal as his hand trembled, and he set the glass down a bit harder than necessary. Edgar made a joke about it and everyone laughed, David’s nervousness forgotten. Except by me.

After dinner the ladies left the table and Edgar poured brandies for each of the men, then fired up a cigar.

“One of Sir Rupert’s,” he explained as he sent a cloud of smoke to the ceiling. “No reason for them to go to waste, I say.”

“What would Malvolio think of that?” Kaz said, and I could see a mischievous glow in his eyes.