At Some Disputed Barricade_ A Novel - Anne Perry [108]
She was doing a little maintenance on the ambulance when she heard footsteps across the cobbled farmyard. At first she assumed it was Wil again, returned from his errand, but when he spoke she swung around in amazement to see Joseph. He looked tired, as always, the shadows around his eyes making them look even darker.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
She saw an intensity in him that sent a wave of fear through her. In spite of all his care not to, had he found undeniable evidence that it was she who had organized the escape of the prisoners? Would he lie to protect her—tell a deliberate, outright lie? Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he had some kind of priestly oath, or a covenant with God. Perhaps he would not break that oath for her, or anyone.
“Hello, Joseph.” Her voice croaked a little.
“I know I’m interrupting, but I need to speak to you,” he said. “It’s important.”
She put down the rag with which she had been cleaning the carburetor.
“About the escape,” he went on.
She tried to look as if she had no idea why he was asking her, and knew that she failed.
He smiled bleakly, his face tight, his eyes gentle. “Be careful what you tell me,” he continued. “So far I have ideas of who was involved, but I don’t know for certain, and without proof I wouldn’t say anything.”
“Oh.” She let out her breath in a sigh. “I see. What is it you do not want to ask me?” She was puzzled. “I wouldn’t tell you who it was, even presuming I knew.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” he agreed hastily. “I imagine you have an intense admiration for them. It was clever, simple, and took great courage, and of course a loyalty as deep as that of any of the soldiers on the line.” He was still looking at her intently, eyes so shadowed with weariness she could not read them. “They are willing to die for one another. And that is what it would come to. If that person, or two people probably, were to be caught, it would be a firing—” His voice cracked, too. “A firing squad matter. I wouldn’t ask you to tell me…if you know. That kind of betrayal is unthinkable.”
Her mouth was dry, her heart pounding. He was playing a game, but what? And what for? “Joseph—”
“But I want you to use your imagination,” he cut across her. “I’ve just spent a little time in the farmhouse where they were kept. And I spoke with Cavan. I know more about what actually happened now. I think only one of them is guilty of murder, the rest of…let’s say ‘conduct unbecoming.’”
She cleared her throat. “Does it make any difference?”
“I think so. I’m going to go after them and try to persuade them to return and face court-martial.”
“They won’t!” She was appalled at his naïveté. “For heaven’s sake, Joseph, they’d be shot! Guilty or innocent, the army’s after blood! You know that.”
“Not if they come back willingly,” he argued. “If they stay away then they’re deserters and fugitives. Worse than deserters, actually: mutineers and murderers.”
“Then they’ll just stay in Switzerland! Or—” She stopped abruptly, realizing she had told him which direction they were going. But they had at least three days’ advantage on him. “Or wherever they go,” she added lamely.
“Yes. Or South America, or wherever we have no treaties of extradition for murder,” he said grimly. “They can never come back to England. Never have careers, never stop looking over their shoulders, never be honest with anyone. That’s a heavy burden to carry all your life.”
She almost said that there might not be an England to come back to, but that was a terrible possibility she refused to harbor. Then the enormity of their situation began to sink in: the endless state of not belonging; the loneliness for anything deeper than passing acquaintance; the knowledge that you were forever a stranger.
“Think of their families,” Joseph said quietly. “They’re not cowards, not ruthless or without honor. I think they would