At Some Disputed Barricade_ A Novel - Anne Perry [148]
“No, sir.” Morel’s voice was hoarse. He straightened his back even more.
Joseph knew he must address the escape first. The knowledge and the fear of betrayal was in the room like an unexploded bomb.
“When you were arrested and imprisoned in the farmhouse you refused to give your word that you would not escape. Did you expect to be rescued?” he asked.
“No, sir.”
“Do you know who rescued you?”
Morel hesitated. He was so tense he was swaying a little with the concentration of keeping control. He knew he must be believed. Joseph had told him everything rested on that.
“Yes, sir.”
Joseph could hear his own breath in the silence of the room. The walls seemed to swell and then recede, as if they were the chest of some sleeping monster. “Who was it?”
“I refuse to say, sir. They risked their lives for us. We do not betray our own men.”
“Just so.” Joseph felt his heart pounding. “Did you fire the shot that killed Major Northrup?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you know who did?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And will you refuse to tell us that also?”
“No, sir. He did not act for the good of the regiment or to save the lives of his men. It was a private vengeance for a civilian matter and had no place here.”
“Who was it?”
“Lance Corporal John Geddes, sir.”
There was a rustle of movement, indistinguishable voices.
Hardesty looked startled.
Faulkner was taken aback, angry.
“And how do you know this, Captain Morel?” Joseph asked loudly.
“I heard him tell the whole story when we were returning from our escape,” Morel replied. “It would be easily verifiable. I expect General Northrup, who is here in court, would testify to most of it, since it happened in the village where he and his family live, and so also does Geddes’s family. I daresay General Northrup would find it painful, but I believe he would not lie.”
A score of men in the room turned to look at Northrup who sat ramrod straight and ashen-faced.
“The motive might be easy enough to check,” Joseph agreed, his voice husky. He loathed doing this, but he was aware that he must raise all the objections before Faulkner did—bite first and draw the poison. “That does not prove Geddes’s guilt. Why would he tell you this? And if he was indeed guilty, why would he return to stand trial rather than simply continue in his escape? Was he not already far beyond British jurisdiction when he made that decision?”
“Yes, sir.” There was not a flicker in Morel’s face. Now everyone had turned toward him. “He was in German territory, sir,” Morel continued. “Hurt, alone, starving, and unable to speak the language. If the Germans had caught him, I think it possible he would have been treated as a spy. He might not have been shot cleanly, and we can do at least that for him.”
“How do you know this, Captain Morel?”
“I was there, sir.”
“Do we have anyone’s word for this, apart from yours?”
“Yes, sir.” Again there was not a flicker in Morel’s face. “There are a number of French officers who could testify to various points of our journey. And you yourself could testify to all of it.”
There was a rustle around the room, a murmur of voices, one or two gasps. Then Hardesty leaned forward. “Is this true, Captain Reavley?” he demanded.
“Yes, sir.”
“And are you willing to testify? If you do so, you will, of course, be subject to cross-examination by the prosecution.”
Joseph cleared his throat. He had no choice. He had struggled to avoid it from the beginning, but there was no way around it that did not make him look like a liar. “Yes, sir,” he said hoarsely.
“Very well. After Lieutenant Colonel Faulkner has questioned Captain Morel, we shall have you testify.”
Faulkner obtained nothing further from Morel that was of any use and Hardesty adjourned the court for the long, miserable night. Joseph spent most of it awake, trying to think of a safer way to introduce the evidence he needed. It all depended on the understanding of morale, of the loyalties that bound the men together, their trust in Morel and his knowledge of it, the obligations he felt. His own testimony of that was