An Unmarked Grave by Charles Todd Page B

certain death. The price of promotion, he called it, when he had to give such orders himself.”
    I’d heard other officers who felt the same way.
    “Was there anyone he particularly disliked?”
    “What an odd question!”
    “Not really. Vincent was always such a good judge of character. And as I remember, he wasn’t one to suffer fools lightly.”
    She smiled at that. “No, he wasn’t, was he? I asked him once—well, war is rather terrible, isn’t it, people wounded and dying in front of one’s eyes, and I thought perhaps petty things no longer mattered. He answered that whatever a man was before the war, he usually brought with him to France. Good or bad. But he particularly disliked those who let down the side, who couldn’t be counted on in pinch.” A frown replaced the smile. “It’s odd, now that you’ve brought this up—there was trouble with one of his sergeants. Vincent was very angry with the man. I never knew what it was about, just that later he was angry with himself for having lost his temper. Fortunately soon afterward, this sergeant was shifted to another part of the line. Vincent seldom lost his temper, but when he did, he could be quite furious. It went with his red hair, I think. His mother also had a lively temper.”
    I laughed, agreeing with her. And to my surprise, she added, “There was also that brother-in-law of his. Sabrina’s husband. Vincent called him a slacker. A disgrace to the uniform.”
    “He wasn’t in our regiment, as I recall.”
    “Oh, no. He joined the Royal Engineers. God knows what they saw in him. But he has been serving under Vincent, something to do with mines. He had been serving—” She caught herself and changed the tense. “I can’t seem to stop thinking that Vincent’s death was confused with someone else’s, and he’ll write soon to tell me he’s well and not to worry.”
    I had stayed as long as I should in politeness, and so I set my teacup back on the tray and took my leave. Julia begged me to come again, if I could, and I promised I would. “Were Vincent’s sisters at the memorial service? I haven’t seen them since your wedding. I hope they are well.”
    She made a face. “Sabrina didn’t come. She’s very likely poor again. You never know with that man she married. I think he must gamble or something of the sort. They always seem to be short of money. But Valerie was here. She and Vincent were only a year apart. She stayed with me, and we comforted each other.”
    “I’m glad.”
    With another embrace we said good-bye, and I drove Dr. Gaines’s motorcar sedately back to The Pelican, where the Captain must have been watching for me. He came out at once, smiled as he nodded toward the crank, and said, “Well, well.”
    “Don’t be silly.”
    He got in beside me, and I saw the grimness of his mouth as he settled into his seat. This outing had tried his leg. As impatient as he was to leave the clinic and get back to the fighting, it was clear to both of us that he wasn’t ready yet.
    Perhaps, I thought, this explained why Dr. Gaines had sent him with me—to measure his readiness in a way that he could face, rather than listening to a doctor telling him a hard truth.
    I found myself with a new respect for Dr. Gaines.
    We drove out of Nether Thornton in silence, mainly because Captain Barclay was in no mood for light conversation. But as his leg stopped throbbing quite so viciously, his spirits returned and he said, “Was it a good visit?”
    “Yes, indeed.” Julia had unwittingly given me food for thought.
    My confidence had been shaken by Colonel Prescott’s letter. And yet there was the evidence of Private Wilson’s death. And what had become of Vincent’s journal? If it was in his tunic pocket when he was killed, someone should have discovered it and put it with his other belongings. A doctor wouldn’t have undressed him if he had died instantly of his wounds. Sadly there was no time for the dead, because there were so