Read Online We Shall Not Sleep by Anne Perry - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anne Perry
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you."
"Is he badly injured?" Joseph was surprised. Snowy Nunn had mentioned only a crushed foot.
"Not at all. Painful, no doubt, but he didn't even refer to it," Hook replied. "He didn't ask for a chaplain, he spoke of you by name— Reavley. Seemed to expect you to be here." The demand for explanation was clear in Hook's eyes.
Was this the Peacemaker's ally in Germany at last? "No idea, sir," Joseph said aloud, his voice husky. He cleared his throat. "I'll go and talk to him. Where is he?"
"Casualty Clearing Station," Hook replied. "His foot's a mess. Looks like someone pinned him to the ground with a bayonet." His face was pinched with disgust. "Damn stupid thing to do. If I thought I had a cat in hell's chance of catching the man who did it, I'd have him up on a charge."
"What's his name, sir?" Joseph's heart was pounding. Could they really be this close to the Peacemaker at last?
"No idea!" Hook said impatiently. "They've only got one colonel. Go back and bloody well ask!"
"Yes, sir." Joseph stood to attention, and then hesitated. He knew Hook wanted to say something more. Their eyes met for a moment. Joseph smiled.
Hook shrugged. "Get out," he said quietly. "Go and find out what the poor sod wants. No favors."
"Yes, sir."
"You mean no, sir," Hook corrected.
It was Joseph's turn to shrug. He went out without replying. It was raining hard again. The wet khaki had rubbed his skin raw at his neck and his feet were getting new blisters by the time he caught up with the ambulances. There were very few men around. Most of the troops had moved forward, beyond Ypres now. Joseph remembered the town well, the places where in 1914 and 1915 they had eaten quite decent food, drunk wine, even sung around the piano in one or two of the better estaminets. He wondered how many of the people were still alive after occupation. Or had most of them fled ahead of the German army, back somewhere into France? How many of the buildings were still standing after the incessant bombardment? He had heard that Passchendaele was in ruins, nothing left but scattered stone and burned wood.
He walked back the way he had come through the mud to the cratered road. Thirty minutes later, he was back in the Casualty Clearing Station, standing by the cot of a German officer whose foot was swathed in bloody bandages, his face white and mask-like with the effort of controlling his pain.
"Captain Reavley," Joseph said, introducing himself. "I believe you wanted to see me, Colonel?"
The man stared at Joseph's uniform as if trying to understand his insignia, and the Military Cross and Distinguished Service Medal. These were both front-line awards, and yet he was still a captain. "You have been demoted?" he said in German. He spoke very quietly, the subject being a delicate one, and there was sympathy in his eyes.
It was Schenckendorff, Joseph was sure of it. He thought he was speaking to Matthew, and had therefore expected a major. And certainly the chaplain's collar confused him. Only the name was what he had been told.
But he must be careful. "What is your name and rank?" Joseph asked. "Why did you send for me?"
The man was exhausted, and to surrender must be almost intolerable for him. His accent was discreet, highly educated. He probably spoke English, even if he chose not to now. But if he really was the German ally of the Peacemaker, then he would be the man who had obtained the kaiser's signature on the original treaty, and he would unquestionably be of the old aristocracy.
"Why did you ask for me?" Joseph repeated.
"I asked for Major Reavley," the man replied, drawing his breath in sharply as another wave of pain overtook him. "I did not know you were a man of the church. It does not seem to make sense."
"It makes excellent sense," Joseph told him, moving a little closer but remaining standing. You did not sit on the narrow cot of a wounded man; the sheer alteration of weight could hurt intensely. "I am chaplain of the Cambridgeshire
"Is he badly injured?" Joseph was surprised. Snowy Nunn had mentioned only a crushed foot.
"Not at all. Painful, no doubt, but he didn't even refer to it," Hook replied. "He didn't ask for a chaplain, he spoke of you by name— Reavley. Seemed to expect you to be here." The demand for explanation was clear in Hook's eyes.
Was this the Peacemaker's ally in Germany at last? "No idea, sir," Joseph said aloud, his voice husky. He cleared his throat. "I'll go and talk to him. Where is he?"
"Casualty Clearing Station," Hook replied. "His foot's a mess. Looks like someone pinned him to the ground with a bayonet." His face was pinched with disgust. "Damn stupid thing to do. If I thought I had a cat in hell's chance of catching the man who did it, I'd have him up on a charge."
"What's his name, sir?" Joseph's heart was pounding. Could they really be this close to the Peacemaker at last?
"No idea!" Hook said impatiently. "They've only got one colonel. Go back and bloody well ask!"
"Yes, sir." Joseph stood to attention, and then hesitated. He knew Hook wanted to say something more. Their eyes met for a moment. Joseph smiled.
Hook shrugged. "Get out," he said quietly. "Go and find out what the poor sod wants. No favors."
"Yes, sir."
"You mean no, sir," Hook corrected.
It was Joseph's turn to shrug. He went out without replying. It was raining hard again. The wet khaki had rubbed his skin raw at his neck and his feet were getting new blisters by the time he caught up with the ambulances. There were very few men around. Most of the troops had moved forward, beyond Ypres now. Joseph remembered the town well, the places where in 1914 and 1915 they had eaten quite decent food, drunk wine, even sung around the piano in one or two of the better estaminets. He wondered how many of the people were still alive after occupation. Or had most of them fled ahead of the German army, back somewhere into France? How many of the buildings were still standing after the incessant bombardment? He had heard that Passchendaele was in ruins, nothing left but scattered stone and burned wood.
He walked back the way he had come through the mud to the cratered road. Thirty minutes later, he was back in the Casualty Clearing Station, standing by the cot of a German officer whose foot was swathed in bloody bandages, his face white and mask-like with the effort of controlling his pain.
"Captain Reavley," Joseph said, introducing himself. "I believe you wanted to see me, Colonel?"
The man stared at Joseph's uniform as if trying to understand his insignia, and the Military Cross and Distinguished Service Medal. These were both front-line awards, and yet he was still a captain. "You have been demoted?" he said in German. He spoke very quietly, the subject being a delicate one, and there was sympathy in his eyes.
It was Schenckendorff, Joseph was sure of it. He thought he was speaking to Matthew, and had therefore expected a major. And certainly the chaplain's collar confused him. Only the name was what he had been told.
But he must be careful. "What is your name and rank?" Joseph asked. "Why did you send for me?"
The man was exhausted, and to surrender must be almost intolerable for him. His accent was discreet, highly educated. He probably spoke English, even if he chose not to now. But if he really was the German ally of the Peacemaker, then he would be the man who had obtained the kaiser's signature on the original treaty, and he would unquestionably be of the old aristocracy.
"Why did you ask for me?" Joseph repeated.
"I asked for Major Reavley," the man replied, drawing his breath in sharply as another wave of pain overtook him. "I did not know you were a man of the church. It does not seem to make sense."
"It makes excellent sense," Joseph told him, moving a little closer but remaining standing. You did not sit on the narrow cot of a wounded man; the sheer alteration of weight could hurt intensely. "I am chaplain of the Cambridgeshire
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