At Some Disputed Barricade_ A Novel - Anne Perry [49]
Hook looked up at him. “Oh, yes, the murder of that bloody awful correspondent, Prentice, or whatever his name was, in ’fifteen. I heard about it. You didn’t ever find out who killed him though, did you?”
Joseph did not answer him.
Hook put both his hands over his face and let his breath out slowly. “I see.”
Joseph knew it would be difficult even to find a place where he could make himself heard, never mind to frame the questions. He was acutely conscious of disturbing men in their few moments’ peace to ask pointless questions. And if he was honest, he was not sure he wanted the answers. He had been just as appalled by Northrup’s stupidity as they were. He had prayed for some kind of release from it—but not this.
He began with Tiddly Wop Andrews. He found him standing on the fire step up to his knees in water, drinking tea out of a Dixie can. It was early evening.
“Hello, Chaplain,” Tiddly Wop said between the bursts of artillery fire. He always spoke quietly. He was a handsome man but profoundly shy. “Looking for someone?”
Joseph was on the trench floor. The duckboards had been swept away and he found it difficult keeping his balance in the mud. Because he was lower than the fire step, he was up to his thighs in it.
“Anyone who might know exactly what happened to Major Northrup,” he replied.
Tiddly Wop grinned. “He got shot,” he replied cheerfully. “That’s one Jerry whose hand Oi’d loike to shake. Moight even give ’im a cup o’ moi tea!” He pulled a face. “’Cepting Oi’ wouldn’t want ter poison the poor bleeder.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know.” Joseph kept his own face straight with an effort. “The general thinks he was shot by one of our men. Colonel Hook has asked me to make inquiries.”
Tiddly Wop’s blue eyes opened wide. “You going to, then?”
“If he was murdered, don’t you think I should?” Joseph countered.
Tiddly Wop thought about it. “You know, Chaplain, Oi used to think Oi knew pretty good what was roight and what wasn’t. But nothing much looks the same as it used to. Oi’m not so certain anymore.” He frowned. “Oi hated Major Northrup ’cos of the men who died ’cos he wouldn’t listen. Oi didn’t shoot him, but if Oi knew who did, Oi’m not saying Oi’d tell you. Oi ’spect Oi’ll be facing whatever judgment there is in a few days, an’ most of moi mates with me. Oi’d rather answer to them than to General Northrup.”
So would Joseph, but he could not admit it. He did not know what to say.
“If Oi knew, and Oi told you, what’d you think of me?” Tiddly Wop asked gravely.
“Maybe it’s just as well you don’t know,” Joseph answered him. He would never be sure if that was the truth or not, nor did he wish to be.
“Chaplain,” Tiddly Wop started as Joseph turned to leave.
“Yes?”
“It’s koind of hard at the moment. Oi’d be careful if Oi was you…about asking, Oi mean.”
“Yes, I know what you mean. Thank you.” Joseph waded away, sliding and squelching through the mud.
He sat in his dugout the second evening, tired and cold to the bone because he was wet. He had spent two days asking questions and heard more stories of Northrup’s ignorance. There was little sympathy for him, sometimes even open hostility without any disguise that Joseph was wasting his concern on the dead instead of doing what he could for those still alive. He had no argument to rebut it: simply that Colonel Hook had ordered it, and better he than the military police.
Night had come, violent and full of pain. The next day had been the same. A few yards were gained, and they were closer to Passchendaele than before. But another thousand men were dead, with twice as many injured.
He had been told stories of Northrup’s last leadership of the men into no-man’s-land. No one had seen him fall. No one had been there at the time. Everyone accounted for everyone else. Friendship and its loyalties were the beacons that towered above the darkness. Joseph knew they were lying because in several instances they actually contradicted each other in their eagerness to protect everyone.