The Rest is Silence (Billy Boyle World War II Mystery) (24 page)

Me, I thought all this saluting was a load of hooey myself, but I thought that about most of the chickenshit stuff in the army. Uncle Ike liked deflating oversized egos himself. Maybe that’s why he gave Big Mike free reign at headquarters. Some general officers criticized him—behind his back, of course—for talking to GIs with his hands in his pockets. Apparently army trousers were not meant to have hands stuffed inside them, for whatever reason. That was the kind of
thing that really ticked Uncle Ike off. So he stuffed his knuckles in his pockets whenever the press was snapping pictures, and the dogfaces loved it. They knew chickenshit, and this was a signal that their Supreme Commander was not a big fan of it himself.

“Sam didn’t tell me much on the telephone,” Big Mike said as he tossed his duffel in the rear of the jeep. “Somethin’ about finding nine guys.”

“Nine dead men,” I said.

“Sounds unpleasant,” Big Mike said. “What’s the deal?”

“It’s even worse than it sounds. Why don’t you drive with Kaz, and he’ll fill you in.”

“We headed to the joint where your RAF pal David lives?” Big Mike asked Kaz.

“Yes. We’ll drop off your gear and all the contraband in the jeep. That’s the bribe for them putting up with you.”

“Geez,” Big Mike said, inspecting the contents. “Ain’t Sam ever gonna forget about those peaches?”

They drove off and I followed, glad for the time alone. Time to think about what had been revealed and what was left unsaid. The time and place of D-Day fit into the latter category, but I didn’t really want to know that much. Not that I might shoot my mouth off after a couple of pints. I didn’t want to see men training for the invasion and know the likely date of their death. I had read a report about expected casualties a week before. It was no secret that airborne divisions would play a key role, but there was talk that Air Vice-Marshal Leigh-Mallory had predicted up to 70 percent casualties for the 82nd Airborne. As for the GIs in the first assault wave, wherever the invasion planners sent them, it would be the same. The Germans had been fortifying the French coastline like mad, planting mines, pouring concrete, laying out fields of fire. The Atlantic Wall, Hitler called it: a long line of fortifications that the tiny Higgins boats would advance upon through churning surf and blazing steel. So, no thanks; I don’t want to know when that’s happening. No wonder Uncle Ike looked so pale, his face lined with worries I couldn’t even imagine.

From Paignton it was a straight shot to the bridge at Totnes,
driving through fields of sprouting crops and grazing cows. I cruised by columns of marching GIs carrying heavy packs and counting cadence. There were more in the distance, spread out on maneuvers, darting up gently rolling hills, disappearing into tree lines and appearing again like an undulating swarm of brown ants. Under the English sky, it all looked so simple.

We crossed the river, and even miles inland it was easy to see how low the water was. Small boats sat on the mud bottom waiting for the tide’s return, long ropes securing them to the bank six feet up. Would bodies drift up the waterways, the cost of war washing up against farmers’ fields? I shook off the macabre image and slowed as the country lane leading to North Cornworthy narrowed, green leafy branches arching over our heads as we drove. Picturesque. The perfect thing before an afternoon of sorting through the dead.

W
E PULLED TO
a stop in front of Ashcroft House. Big Mike whistled in amazement as he got out of the other jeep.

“This is where you guys have been shacking up? Not bad,” he said.

“Wait until you meet the family,” I said, stretching after the jeep ride. “How should we handle this?” I asked Kaz.

“Meredith, first,” Kaz said. “She seems to be in charge now. Then a courtesy call upon Lady Pemberton.” I was about to ask Kaz to brief Big Mike on how to act around Great Aunt Sylvia when voices rose from around the side of the house. Angry voices.

“Who’s that?” I said.

“David, perhaps,” Kaz said. It was two men, arguing. David and Edgar? I doubted Edgar would get that worked up over anything. “Wait here,” Kaz said, obviously worried about his friend, but not wanting to embarrass him with a whole posse. As soon as Kaz turned the corner, the voices dropped off. In a minute, he was back with David and Crawford, who sported a dark scowl.

“Crawford will deliver the supplies to the kitchen,” David said to Kaz, studiously avoiding speaking to or looking at Crawford, who bent to the task and left with an armload. Kaz introduced him to Big Mike,
who gave David a casual, “How ya doin’? Nice place.” If I hadn’t been watching for it, I would have missed Big Mike’s eyes lingering on the burned face, studying the taut, shiny skin.

“Not mine, I’m afraid. Not really sure who holds the title, not yet anyway. Come inside, we’ll find Meredith. Helen will defer to her in any case; she always does. I am sure we’ll be happy to have another guest, these delicacies notwithstanding.”

Helen was nowhere to be seen, but we found Meredith in Sir Rupert’s study. Or his former study. She was in the classic bill payer’s pose, a mass of envelopes and invoices on the desk next to an open checkbook.

“Sorry to interrupt, Meredith,” David said. “It seems we’re being asked to do our bit for the war effort and house a colleague of the baron’s for a few days. This is Sergeant … er, how do you pronounce that name again?” David gave Big Mike an apologetic look.

“Staff Sergeant Mike Miecznikowski, ma’am,” Big Mike said, stepping forward and offering his huge hand. “People call me Big Mike, though.”

“I can see why,” Meredith said, tossing down her pen and accepting the shake, her delicate hand disappearing into Big Mike’s grip. “What exactly can we do for you?”

“It’s got something to do with that ship being sunk,” David said. Kaz and I exchanged a quick glance. Had news traveled that fast? “The sergeant works with Billy and the baron, and they all need to stay on a few more days.”

“Of course, we shall be glad to help in our small way,” Meredith said, smiling as she rose from her chair. “Welcome to Ashcroft House, Sergeant. David, could you show our guest to his room? Will you all be staying for luncheon?”

“No, we need to get going,” I said. “Thanks very much. I hope this is not an imposition, considering all you’ve been through.” For a dame who was on the outs with her father when he died, Meredith fit into the role of Ashcroft’s head honcho easily enough.

“Not at all, Captain,” she said. “I for one am glad of the distraction. We can’t seem to get a straight answer from father’s solicitor about the
estate, and meanwhile, we have creditors whose patience seems to be running out. I’m sending each a small amount from our funds and a note explaining the situation.” She shook her head, as if clearing away cobwebs. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be boring you with our troubles, should I? I’ll ask Mrs. Dudley to make some sandwiches for you to take.”

“Take a look at what they’ve brought us, while you’re at it,” David said. “Food and drink of the gods.”

“We’ll need to be sure Edgar doesn’t keep the drink to himself,” she said, leaving the room.

“Very kind of Meredith to be so accommodating,” I said to David as he escorted Big Mike to his room. “She seems different now that her father’s gone.”

“Yes, she does,” David agreed. “Odd duck, our Meredith. Here you go, Big Mike,” he said, opening the door to a room next to mine.

“How did you hear about a ship being sunk?” I asked as we waited for Big Mike to stow his bag.

“From Crawford,” he said. “He mentioned that you and Piotr went out early after receiving a call, something to do with a German attack on a convoy, I think. He was going to go out fishing and telephoned a friend of his on a shore battery to find out if it was safe.”

“Yeah,” I said, remembering the snatch of pre-dawn conversation. “A cousin, I think.”

“That’s right,” David said as Big Mike shut his door behind him. “I assumed that was still your assignment. All right, let’s get those sandwiches organized. So sorry Helen isn’t about to meet our new guest. She hasn’t been herself lately. I think her father’s death has had more of an effect on her than she let on.” I followed as David led us downstairs, not wanting to stick my nose in and ask what he and Crawford had been arguing about. Besides, Kaz would do that in his own way.

In the kitchen Williams and Mrs. Dudley were
ohhh
ing and
ahhh
ing over the rations we’d brought along. Meredith and Edgar were there, too, along with Crawford, who was leaning against a counter smoking a cigarette, having already opened the carton of Chesterfields.

“Sugar!” Mrs. Dudley said, feeling the heft of the package. “I
haven’t seen this much sugar since before the war. Thank you, gentlemen. Oh, I must finish packing your lunch!” She scurried off, wiping her hands on her apron.

“It wasn’t necessary, Baron Kazimierz,” Meredith said. “But it is appreciated.” It was funny how people in this house usually addressed such comments to Kaz exclusively. Their types much preferred talking to a baron over a mere American captain. Hey, who could blame them? Kaz would always be a baron, but when this war was over, I’d be a cop again, relegated to the back door of any place as fancy as this on Beacon Hill. Still, Meredith had treated Big Mike nicely, reserving her cutting remarks for her own husband, and that had to count for something. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Edgar inspect the Scotch as Meredith supervised the stocking of the larder.

“Let’s leave that for drinks tonight, shall we?” she said, a disapproving eyebrow raised in her husband’s direction.

“I’ll take the bottles to the library,” Edgar said, not exactly agreeing or disagreeing.

“Have you seen Helen?” David asked, pulling Meredith’s attention away from Edgar, who was walking away from her, bottles clinking in his hands.

“She went out for some air,” Meredith said. “She mentioned something about creditors upsetting her. Well, that’s what they do, isn’t it?”

“I’m sure it will all turn out fine in the end,” David said, directing a reassuring smile at Williams and Crawford. No reason to let the help know about financial problems, even in such a progressive house as Ashcroft, I figured.

“Have you set a date for the funeral?” Kaz asked. “We would like to attend, duties permitting.”

“In two days,” Meredith said. “Thank you. That is most kind. I know Father enjoyed your company, as well as yours, Captain Boyle. I do hope you can be there.”

“Don’t worry about that, ma’am,” Big Mike said. “You tell us where and when, and I’ll make sure they get there on time.”

“How nice of you, Sergeant,” Meredith said. “Ten o’clock, St. Peter’s in North Cornworthy. It’s the only church in the village. We’re
very C of E around here. Church of England, I mean,” she added for benefit of us outsiders.

“We’ll do our best,” I said, noticing that Meredith was warming to Big Mike as easily as any crusty old general at SHAEF. “But now we should see Lady Pemberton and pay our respects. Is she in her sitting room?”

“Yes, go on up,” Meredith said. “The poor dear is exhausted, so please don’t tire her out. I think the events of the past few days have had their effect on her.” She wished us well and returned to her list of US Army rations.

Upstairs, we knocked on Great Aunt Sylvia’s sitting-room door. She beckoned us in with a weak voice, and we found her sitting in an overstuffed armchair by the window, a blanket on her lap. She did look tired, and quite pale as well.

“Ah, visitors,” she said, her eyes still holding a twinkle of life. “How nice. Baron Kazimierz, Captain Boyle, who do you have with you?”

“Sergeant Michael Miecznikowski, Lady Pemberton,” Big Mike said, giving her a bow that wouldn’t have been out of place at a society shindig. “I’m afraid I will be taking advantage of your hospitality for a few days. Official business; I hope you don’t mind.”

“What exactly is your business, young man?”

“Keeping these two officers out of trouble. It’s a full-time job, Lady Pemberton.”

“So I imagine, Sergeant. What did you say your name was again?” She squinted, as if she was having trouble seeing.

“Don’t even try, ma’am. I answer to Sarge or Big Mike, which is what General Eisenhower himself calls me.”

“Big Mike,” Great Aunt Sylvia said. “If ever a name fit the man, yours does. You Americans always seem so large in comparison to our English boys. Thin and pasty, many of them, while you are so fit and tanned. Even our soldiers often look puny in comparison. Boys of eighteen have been living with rationing since they were thirteen years old, raised without proper foods. There are young children in the village who have never seen an orange. Small wonder that our servicemen are often engulfed by their uniforms.” She waved a hand across her
face as if banishing the image from her mind. “But my manners—please, sit down, and tell me what happened so early this morning.”

“We only have a few minutes,” I said, sitting on a couch next to Kaz while Big Mike tested the limits of a chair across from Lady Pemberton. “We’re looking for survivors from a ship that was torpedoed out in Lyme Bay. Some senior officers haven’t been accounted for yet.”

“We hope they’ve been picked up by one of the rescue vessels,” Kaz said, which didn’t sound too much like a lie.

“I think Crawford went out in his boat,” she said. “I seem to recall seeing him from my window, bicycling out shortly after you left. That was today, wasn’t it? I get up before the cock crows these days, and I think I watched all of you leave … Yes, this morning; it must have been. You’ll have to excuse my memory. This isn’t one of my better days.”

“Crawford didn’t mention going out,” I said, watching Great Aunt Sylvia furrow her brow, worrying as she tried to remember the early morning events.

“Apparently he heard from some relative who saw the explosion. He thought it was close enough in that he might find men still alive in the water. But the navy turned him away, saying it was restricted. From what Crawford reports, they have enough boats out and about.”

“Good of him to try,” Kaz said.

“Indeed,” Great Aunt Sylvia said, stifling a yawn. “I mustn’t keep you gentlemen from your duties. It was very nice to meet you, Big Mike. Good luck to you.” Her eyelids fluttered, and she seemed about to nod off to sleep. She managed a wave before her hand dropped limply in her lap.