Angels in the Gloom_ A Novel - Anne Perry [137]
She was unhappy with that advice, knowing that there was something desperately wrong, but he refused to tell her more. He left the study, where he had been with the door closed, to find Hannah in the hall saying that Hallam Kerr was here again, in a degree of anxiety because Mrs. Hopgood was expecting her son home from France, and he had lost both his legs. The boy was nineteen.
“Do you want me to tell him to go away?” she asked with a slightly twisted smile.
“Thank you, but I’ll tell him myself,” he replied, walking past her.
“Joseph . . .”
He stopped and half turned.
She gave him a tight smile, wry, soft-eyed. “Isn’t it also time that you told him you are going back to your regiment, and he’s going to have to deal with her on his own?” she asked.
How did she know? He had not even faced telling her yet, knowing how much she wanted him to stay.
She looked at his dismay. “I’m learning,” she said with a touch of self-mockery. She turned and went toward the kitchen, her head high, her back stiff, deliberately not glancing back at him. Their understanding was better than to need it.
Joseph went into the sitting room, where he found Kerr standing in front of the fireplace, although of course the fire was not lit, and the room was full of sunlight. He looked anxious and there was something close to panic in his eyes. He cleared his throat and his voice was husky.
“I came to tell you about Billy Hopgood,” he said a little awkwardly. “I thought you would like at least to know about it. He wasn’t in your regiment, but you probably know him.”
“Yes . . . slightly.”
Kerr hesitated, his eyes searching Joseph’s. “I’m . . . I’m going to see him,” he said. “I’ve no idea what I can say—God help me! But I swear I’ll stay as long as he wants me to. If . . .” He swallowed as though there was a lump in his throat. “If he tells me to get out, should I go?”
Joseph smiled in spite of himself. “I don’t know any better than you do. Maybe wait until he’s told you three times, that should mean he’s sincere.”
“I’ll be there all night, if that’s what he needs,” Kerr promised. “Two in the morning can be a terrible hour to spend alone. I . . . I know. I’ve done it. I still have my arms and legs, but I felt as if God had abandoned the world.” He gulped again. “He . . . he hasn’t, has he?” He looked at Joseph with pleading eyes.
Joseph looked back at him, racking his mind for what he should say. Was Kerr strong enough for honesty? Perhaps he was too weak to survive anything else, and forgive? “I don’t know,” he answered. “There are times when I look at what’s happening, young men crushed and dying, the land poisoned and turned to filth, corruption of what I used to trust utterly, and I’m not sure.” He met Kerr’s haggard eyes. “But the things that Christ taught are still true, of that I’m absolutely certain. Meet me at the end of the world when we stand at the abyss, I’ll tell Satan to his face just as certainly: Honor is still worth living or dying for; no matter how tired or hurt or frightened you are, face forward and seek the light, even if it’s gone out and you can’t remember where it was, keep going. It’s always right to care. It’s going to hurt like hell at times, you’ll think it’s beyond bearing, but if you let go of that then you have lost the purpose of existing at all.”
Kerr stared at him, a slow, almost beautiful dawn of understanding in his eyes, as if he had seen something at last that made sense, one firm step on which to build.
“Yes,” he said simply. “I’ll go now. Thank you, Captain Reavley.” He held out his hand. “Thank you for everything.”
Joseph took it and gripped it hard, and felt an answering firmness. “Good luck,” he offered, meaning it profoundly.
Kerr nodded. “You too, sir.”
The next day Orla telephoned again, and this time it was not possible to put her off with evasion. Her voice was harsh with fear and exhaustion, and unquestionably with