Shoulder the Sky_ A Novel - Anne Perry [148]
The twenty guests were at one long table, so they might discuss information and ideas more easily. No attempt had been made to balance the numbers. There were fourteen men and six women. Their host was Dermot Sandwell, tall and lean, impossibly elegant in black and white, the light of the chandeliers gleaming on his fair hair.
“Good evening, Miss Reavley, Captain Reavley,” he said warmly as they entered the room where the reception was held. “It was very good of you to come,” he said to Judith in particular. “You will speak on behalf of a body of women we admire intensely. You have a nobility and a courage second to none.”
“We have men, too, Mr. Sandwell,” she reminded him. “Many of them are young Americans who came at their own expense, because they believe in what we are fighting for, and they care.”
“Yes, I know. And we will do more to give you the supplies and the support that’s appropriate,” he promised. “That’s why we need you here, to tell us exactly what that is. It’s time to stop guessing, doubling up some actions and omitting others. There is so much goodwill in the civilian population, people willing to do anything they can to help, but it is desperately in need of organization.” He turned to Joseph. “I see you are a chaplain. Are you home on leave?”
“Yes, sir, briefly,” Joseph answered. “I return in two days.”
“Where to?”
“Ypres.” There was no indiscretion in answering. Chaplains were often moved from one place to another, and a cabinet minister like Sandwell probably knew far more accurately than Joseph exactly which regiments were where, and what their numbers were.
“Front line?” Sandwell asked.
“Yes, sir. I think that’s where I should be.”
“Were you there for the gas attack?” Sandwell’s face was bleak, almost pinched. Joseph could not help wondering if he had lost someone he knew and loved in it.
“Yes, sir,” he replied, meeting the wide, blue eyes and seeing the imagination of horror in them, and perhaps guilt, because he knew, and still had no choice but to send more men to face something he did not experience himself. Joseph wished he could think of something to say that would at least show he understood. For ministers and generals to risk their own lives helped no one. Their burdens were different, but just as real. Quite suddenly he felt an almost suffocating sense of loss for Owen Cullingford, not for Judith’s sake, but simply because the man was gone, and he realized how much he had liked him. “Yes, I was there. It’s a new kind of war.”
“I’d give anything not to have to send men to that!” Sandwell said quietly, his voice shaking. “God in heaven, what have we come to?” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Captain. You know better than I do what the reality is. Perhaps you would be kind enough after dinner, when we address the subject more seriously, to tell us anything you think might assist us to be of more help, and more support to our men?”
“Anything I can,” Joseph agreed.
They moved further into the room, side by side, acknowledging people, being introduced, making polite remarks. After a little while they separated, Judith to talk to one of the other women, Joseph to answer questions from a bishop and member of the House of Lords on conditions and supplies that might be helped by civilian donations.
It was only as they were going in to dinner that he heard a voice he recognized with a stab of memory so sharp the sweat broke out on his skin and he felt cold the instant after.
“Virtuous and no doubt commendable, but naive, Miss Reavley.”
Joseph spun around and saw Richard Mason talking to Judith. They were standing a little apart from the stream of guests moving toward the dining room.