Read Online The Return of Captain John Emmett by Elizabeth Speller - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Speller
Ads: Link
John lay under this; the top half of his body was towards us. He was conscious and had air, but his right arm was caught under him, his back and legs were buried by the earth and he couldn't turn his head. Even the timber above him was bowing and there was a steady trickle of soil. I don't mind telling you I was on a hair-trigger to run out of there. I always hated those tunnels, especially re-digs. But slowly I calmed down and realised I couldn't smell explosive or burning.'
William turned in his chair, opened a carved box on the side table, took out a silver lighter and a tobacco pouch and proceeded to fill and light his pipe. He drew the smoke in, slowly and deeply.
'I started excavating round him, hoping to hell the whole thing wouldn't fall in.'
'And you got him out?'
'Well, he was a lucky man in the event; scarcely a scratch on him, but he wasn't doing too well down there. Covered in sweat, ashen in the light of my torch and gasping. Eventually Tucker had to finish the job. I was too big, you see. Tall man, back then ... couldn't squeeze through properly. Every time I moved, I scraped against the sides and brought more stuff down, but Tucker was wiry, almost skinny, he could wriggle about down there. Until we had John out, I thought he must be bleeding somewhere, even wondered if he'd die before we'd got him clear. Ghastly look on his face. But nothing; well, a broken finger and ankle, but nothing major that you could see. It turned out he'd also injured a kidney, which eventually saw him sent back to Blighty, but what he was suffering from right then was fear, I suppose. Simple, unalloyed fear. We weren't supposed to be frightened, not so that it showed. Now when you look back, you can see that fear was the rational response to much of it, but there was another set of rules then, wasn't there?'
Laurence nodded silently. He had never been able to say outright, 'I was frightened.' The band of iron round his chest might have been so tight that pain shot down his arms and his fingers tingled as he laboured to draw in a breath, but he'd always hidden it, or at least he hoped he had.
Bolitho went on matter-of-factly, 'The men could scream for hours out in no-man's land, especially the young ones. Disturb your rest for a bit, rather like a neighbour's barking dog, but eventually you'd learn to sleep through. Officers, though, were supposed to be above all that. You might have been a Sunday school teacher or a corn merchant back home, but get a commission and all your emotions had to be left at the door.' He inhaled on his pipe.
'And there was Tucker,' Bolitho continued after a while, 'who was close to losing his stripes for this and that, working like a dervish to get John out. Absolutely fearless; on his stomach practically keeping the ceiling up with his own body and the whole thing creaking in a way that made you remember how many hundredweight of earth was above it, lying with his body pressed against John, so close that he could have kissed him just by dropping his head a few inches. Yet when we finally pulled John clear, only minutes before the whole damn thing fell in with one last, long rumble, and Smith left in what was now his tomb—pray God he was dead already, not a squeak from him—I saw Tucker was looking at John with a sort of amused contempt and something nastier: triumph, I'd say. And he didn't seem that bothered by the corporal—Perkins was his name, I think—getting it, either, given the man was what passed for a friend.'
'And no bequest from John for him?'
Bolitho tapped at his pipe. 'Unlikely. There was definitely business between John and Tucker. Something going on.'
'Business?'
'Haven't a clue what it was,' William said breezily. 'Just an impression. Antagonism of some sort. Tucker had his finger in various pies. Buying and selling, doing favours, even dead men's effects, some said. He nearly went down over some rabbit-skin fiddle.'
'Rabbit skin?' Laurence wondered whether there was a
William turned in his chair, opened a carved box on the side table, took out a silver lighter and a tobacco pouch and proceeded to fill and light his pipe. He drew the smoke in, slowly and deeply.
'I started excavating round him, hoping to hell the whole thing wouldn't fall in.'
'And you got him out?'
'Well, he was a lucky man in the event; scarcely a scratch on him, but he wasn't doing too well down there. Covered in sweat, ashen in the light of my torch and gasping. Eventually Tucker had to finish the job. I was too big, you see. Tall man, back then ... couldn't squeeze through properly. Every time I moved, I scraped against the sides and brought more stuff down, but Tucker was wiry, almost skinny, he could wriggle about down there. Until we had John out, I thought he must be bleeding somewhere, even wondered if he'd die before we'd got him clear. Ghastly look on his face. But nothing; well, a broken finger and ankle, but nothing major that you could see. It turned out he'd also injured a kidney, which eventually saw him sent back to Blighty, but what he was suffering from right then was fear, I suppose. Simple, unalloyed fear. We weren't supposed to be frightened, not so that it showed. Now when you look back, you can see that fear was the rational response to much of it, but there was another set of rules then, wasn't there?'
Laurence nodded silently. He had never been able to say outright, 'I was frightened.' The band of iron round his chest might have been so tight that pain shot down his arms and his fingers tingled as he laboured to draw in a breath, but he'd always hidden it, or at least he hoped he had.
Bolitho went on matter-of-factly, 'The men could scream for hours out in no-man's land, especially the young ones. Disturb your rest for a bit, rather like a neighbour's barking dog, but eventually you'd learn to sleep through. Officers, though, were supposed to be above all that. You might have been a Sunday school teacher or a corn merchant back home, but get a commission and all your emotions had to be left at the door.' He inhaled on his pipe.
'And there was Tucker,' Bolitho continued after a while, 'who was close to losing his stripes for this and that, working like a dervish to get John out. Absolutely fearless; on his stomach practically keeping the ceiling up with his own body and the whole thing creaking in a way that made you remember how many hundredweight of earth was above it, lying with his body pressed against John, so close that he could have kissed him just by dropping his head a few inches. Yet when we finally pulled John clear, only minutes before the whole damn thing fell in with one last, long rumble, and Smith left in what was now his tomb—pray God he was dead already, not a squeak from him—I saw Tucker was looking at John with a sort of amused contempt and something nastier: triumph, I'd say. And he didn't seem that bothered by the corporal—Perkins was his name, I think—getting it, either, given the man was what passed for a friend.'
'And no bequest from John for him?'
Bolitho tapped at his pipe. 'Unlikely. There was definitely business between John and Tucker. Something going on.'
'Business?'
'Haven't a clue what it was,' William said breezily. 'Just an impression. Antagonism of some sort. Tucker had his finger in various pies. Buying and selling, doing favours, even dead men's effects, some said. He nearly went down over some rabbit-skin fiddle.'
'Rabbit skin?' Laurence wondered whether there was a
Similar Books
