Read Online The Return of Captain John Emmett by Elizabeth Speller - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Elizabeth Speller
Ads: Link
whole lexicon of army jargon that had passed him by.
'You remember rabbit stew? Sometimes more stew than rabbit, sometimes the men claimed it was rat? Procurement people made a fortune on selling rabbit skins. Hundreds of thousand of pounds from clothes manufacturers to warm the slender necks of shop girls and kindergarten teachers, with fur collars straight from the mess kitchens. Only Tucker had seen the opportunity first and he'd been selling them locally. Argued he thought it was all just rubbish. Got away with it, but only just. His mate, Perkins, who'd enlisted with him and who was definitely part of the scheme, called him Bunny from then on, but nobody else would have dared.'
'How on earth had he got to sergeant?' Laurence asked.
'Well, they were very short of NCOs at the start and he'd been a factory foreman, somewhere in the Black Country, so actually he was quite good with the men—the ones he hadn't taken against—and he was fearless, albeit vicious, or he would have been in trouble before. But there were always rumours. The men said he was a devil with the ladies and we'd nearly had him up on a charge for selling coloured water as a cure for the clap. The lads didn't like getting the lecture from the MO, and Tucker's stuff worked a treat because most of them never had the clap in the first place. First-timers, boys, with nothing worse than a guilty conscience. But we were a long way forward at that time, so there weren't a whole lot of mesdemoiselless in petticoats waiting for Tucker's blandishments. I seldom dealt with him directly but the man was a clever opportunist and, I can quite believe, a brute at heart. And he'd disappear from time to time. I suppose we thought he might have been out poaching.'
Again Laurence must have looked puzzled because William's expression changed to one of weary distaste.
'You must have come across them. Loners? Men made for killing? Couldn't have enough of it, so went out to find the odd extra German for sport or mementoes?' He ran a finger across his throat.
Laurence nodded. Angels in the sky; bullets deflected by prayer books or cigarette cases; football armistices; berserkers. Battlefields acquired their own myths; he'd rarely found much truth in them.
William went on, 'Still, John had him down for something else. He wouldn't say, or not to me—I was new to the unit then—but he clearly loathed the man. I went to see Emmett once he was strapped up and waiting to go. He was still very pale but quite composed, and he asked me about Perkins, and where Tucker had been when the tunnel collapsed. He was more suspicious than grateful. I told him I hadn't seen Tucker at all until everyone came running and that he owed his life to him. But I got the feeling that John thought Tucker might have had something to do with the accident itself. Perhaps that's a bit strong. He didn't say anything specific and he'd had a bad shock.'
'He didn't like small spaces,' Laurence said. 'He had claustrophobia, I suppose. Even at school.'
'God.' William puffed at the pipe. 'Must have been hell, then. He was two hours down there, at least. Must have seemed like a lifetime. Anyway, a few weeks later everything goes up. John's in hospital, locally until the casualties start pouring in, then shipped home. Never gets a chance to call it with Tucker. Not then.'
'And when he died he left you the money?' Laurence said. 'Do you mind me asking?'
'Of course not. It was as much a surprise to us as I fear it must have been to his family. In fact, when John's solicitors wrote, we asked them what the family's circumstances were. Didn't want to leave them in dire straits. Can't say but that the money was helpful—you can see how it is—but no reason for them to do without. Chap said that he didn't know the family personally but that John had left his people the house they were already living in, which he owned, and most of the rest of his estate. The solicitor seemed to think their needs were covered
'You remember rabbit stew? Sometimes more stew than rabbit, sometimes the men claimed it was rat? Procurement people made a fortune on selling rabbit skins. Hundreds of thousand of pounds from clothes manufacturers to warm the slender necks of shop girls and kindergarten teachers, with fur collars straight from the mess kitchens. Only Tucker had seen the opportunity first and he'd been selling them locally. Argued he thought it was all just rubbish. Got away with it, but only just. His mate, Perkins, who'd enlisted with him and who was definitely part of the scheme, called him Bunny from then on, but nobody else would have dared.'
'How on earth had he got to sergeant?' Laurence asked.
'Well, they were very short of NCOs at the start and he'd been a factory foreman, somewhere in the Black Country, so actually he was quite good with the men—the ones he hadn't taken against—and he was fearless, albeit vicious, or he would have been in trouble before. But there were always rumours. The men said he was a devil with the ladies and we'd nearly had him up on a charge for selling coloured water as a cure for the clap. The lads didn't like getting the lecture from the MO, and Tucker's stuff worked a treat because most of them never had the clap in the first place. First-timers, boys, with nothing worse than a guilty conscience. But we were a long way forward at that time, so there weren't a whole lot of mesdemoiselless in petticoats waiting for Tucker's blandishments. I seldom dealt with him directly but the man was a clever opportunist and, I can quite believe, a brute at heart. And he'd disappear from time to time. I suppose we thought he might have been out poaching.'
Again Laurence must have looked puzzled because William's expression changed to one of weary distaste.
'You must have come across them. Loners? Men made for killing? Couldn't have enough of it, so went out to find the odd extra German for sport or mementoes?' He ran a finger across his throat.
Laurence nodded. Angels in the sky; bullets deflected by prayer books or cigarette cases; football armistices; berserkers. Battlefields acquired their own myths; he'd rarely found much truth in them.
William went on, 'Still, John had him down for something else. He wouldn't say, or not to me—I was new to the unit then—but he clearly loathed the man. I went to see Emmett once he was strapped up and waiting to go. He was still very pale but quite composed, and he asked me about Perkins, and where Tucker had been when the tunnel collapsed. He was more suspicious than grateful. I told him I hadn't seen Tucker at all until everyone came running and that he owed his life to him. But I got the feeling that John thought Tucker might have had something to do with the accident itself. Perhaps that's a bit strong. He didn't say anything specific and he'd had a bad shock.'
'He didn't like small spaces,' Laurence said. 'He had claustrophobia, I suppose. Even at school.'
'God.' William puffed at the pipe. 'Must have been hell, then. He was two hours down there, at least. Must have seemed like a lifetime. Anyway, a few weeks later everything goes up. John's in hospital, locally until the casualties start pouring in, then shipped home. Never gets a chance to call it with Tucker. Not then.'
'And when he died he left you the money?' Laurence said. 'Do you mind me asking?'
'Of course not. It was as much a surprise to us as I fear it must have been to his family. In fact, when John's solicitors wrote, we asked them what the family's circumstances were. Didn't want to leave them in dire straits. Can't say but that the money was helpful—you can see how it is—but no reason for them to do without. Chap said that he didn't know the family personally but that John had left his people the house they were already living in, which he owned, and most of the rest of his estate. The solicitor seemed to think their needs were covered
Similar Books
