Angels in the Gloom_ A Novel - Anne Perry [35]
But there were other risks, to the conscience, the grief and the shame afterward, to the belief in one’s own compassion or morality. All her life she would remember whatever she did about it, and the life or death of this young man, and his family. One wanted to save everyone—and it was impossible.
He folded up the letter and put it away. He must answer it today. It would not wait. But he was not ready yet. If he was right and she wanted his judgment, then he too would never escape the consequence of it. He drifted off to sleep, the newspaper on the floor beside him.
He was jerked awake by the sound of shouting in the hallway. It was excited voices, high-pitched, over and over again, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” and Henry barking.
He stood up stiffly, papers sliding to the floor, just as Archie came through the door, Jenny on one side of him, Luke on the other, and Tom and Hannah behind him. Archie was smiling. He was still in uniform and there was something enormously impressive about the navy with the gold braid. Tom’s eyes were blazing with pride, and Jenny looked up at her father as if he were close to a god.
But the momentary joy did not hide the fatigue in Archie’s face, and Joseph recognized it with aching familiarity. He had seen that battle-weariness countless times before, the slowness to refocus the eyes, the way the shoulders were tight as if movement was not quite coordinated. Archie’s skin was wind-chapped and there was a razor cut on his left cheek. His dark hair had a touch of early gray at the temples.
“Joseph!” He held out his hand. “How are you?” His glance took in the heavily bandaged arm and the awkwardness of stance as he stood up. He understood injury.
“Good to see you, Archie,” Joseph replied, gripping his hand firmly. He met his eyes only for a moment, giving away nothing.
Tom carried his father’s case upstairs. Luke stood around, longing to ask questions and not sure how to begin. Archie sat down and Jenny slipped onto his lap and leaned against him. Hannah went to get hot tea and cakes.
“How long do you have?” Joseph asked, hoping it was at least a week.
Archie shrugged very slightly. “Three or four days,” he replied. “We’ve lost a few men. Had one or two nasty scraps. Gun turret caught fire.” He did not add that there were no survivors. Joseph knew enough about such things not to need explanation and he did not want the children to hear. There was so much that was better unsaid. Nor would Archie ask Joseph about whatever shell-fire or explosion had caused his injuries. One did not relive it; there was no point, no explanation, nothing eased.
Tom came back into the room silently.
“I hear the Duke of Westminster’s unit has reached Bir Hakeim and rescued the crews of the Tara and the Moorina,” Joseph observed, struggling to think of something hopeful.
Archie smiled. “That’s good. All I heard in London was the political news, and word about Verdun. We’re taking bets as to whether Lloyd George will be prime minister by autumn.” He stood up restlessly, sliding Jenny onto her feet, and began walking around the room, looking at the familiar ornaments, pictures, the way the afternoon light fell slanting through the windows onto the worn patches in the carpet.
Joseph knew what he was doing. He had done it also, making sure in the deeper parts of his mind that he was really home, that it all remained the same, whatever happened to the world away from here. Later, alone, he would probably touch those things, steeping his senses in their feel and their smell, to carry with him when he had to leave.
“Last bets I heard were on conscription by the middle of the year,” Joseph said quietly.
Archie was by the mantelpiece. He turned, glancing at the children, seeing their faces as they watched his every move and gesture. “Which way is your money?” he asked.
“For it,” Joseph replied. “About sixpence.” He made himself smile. He knew the news was bad and he was reading in Archie’s eyes the things he would not say in front of anyone else. There was a