Shoulder the Sky_ A Novel - Anne Perry [93]
“What?” Wil was totally lost.
“Letters,” Stallabrass said patiently. “Stamps. She’s the postmistress. That’s what she does. It’s very important. Where would we be without the Royal Mail? It holds the world together. King’s head on every stamp. Do you know how serious it is to steal or damage the Royal Mail?”
“Oh yes,” Wil agreed hastily. “Very important job for a young woman. She must be very special. What’s her name?”
“Jeanette. She’s forty-one. . . .”
Wil gulped and started to cough. The other soldier, partly to hide his own expression, patted him vigorously on the back.
“But she’s beautiful?” Dick prompted gravely.
“Gorgeous.” Stallabrass nodded, taking Dick’s Pernod absently and drinking it. “Gilbert Darrow thinks he’s going to marry her, just because he’s got a uniform and he’s in the navy. Well, I’ve got a uniform, too!” He tried to square his shoulders, then changed his mind. “And I’m out here in France!”
“Flanders, actually,” Wil corrected him. “But what’s the difference, eh?”
“I’m here!” Stallabrass said carefully. “I shall see action! Front line—with the general. I shall win medals, and then we’ll see what Gilbert”—he hiccupped—“Darrow has to show for himself.” He blinked. “Say for himself,” he corrected. “Nothing, that’s what!”
“You’re right!” Dick agreed with a broad smile. “You win a chestful of medals and go home and win Jeanette’s hand. Sweep her off her feet! Or try anyway. Is she a big lady, with beautiful . . . eyes?”
“Yes, I’ll do that!” Stallabrass said with another loud sniff. “I’ll show them. I’ll show them all!”
“To love!” Dick held up his glass.
Wil refilled Stallabrass’s glass again and topped it up with a few drops of water. “To true love!” he said, lifting his own to his lips. “Always win in the end. Drink up, ol’ boy!”
“To . . . true love!” Stallabrass emptied his glass all the way to the bottom, and slid off his chair onto the floor.
“Yeah, maybe,” Dick agreed. “But not tonight, I reckon. Yer want a hand to get ’im up to ’is bed?”
“Thank you,” Wil accepted, climbing slowly to his feet. “We’d better put him away nicely.”
“Can’t leave ’im ’ere, like nobody’s child,” Dick agreed, bending down to pick up Stallabrass in a fireman’s lift. “Beggin’ yer pardon, miss,” he said to Judith. “But I think you’d better leave this to us. ’E’s totally rat-arsed. Welcome to the army, Corporal!”
Judith stepped back. There was nothing more for her to do. It was three in the morning, and she had nowhere to sleep except in the ambulance. It would be chilly, but at least it would be dry, and she could lie down.
She woke in the morning to Wil shaking her urgently. She sat up, trying to remember where she was.
“You’d better get straightened up,” he said in a hoarse whisper, as if they could be overheard, although actually there was no one else within fifty yards. The ambulance was parked in a side alley and it was not long after dawn. The cobbles still glistened with dew and the light had the hard, pale clarity of early morning.
She rubbed her hands over her face and pushed her hair back. Her head pounded and there was a vile taste in her mouth. Then she remembered the estaminet, Corporal Stallabrass, and the Pernod! No wonder she felt awful. She had not drank so much, but he had, and she was filled with guilt. How must he feel?
“Get yourself up, sugar!” Wil said firmly. “I don’t think Corporal Stallabrass is going to win any medals today. In fact he just might not be safe to drive at all, and we wouldn’t want the general to end up in the ditch, would we?”
She blushed and cleared her vision with an effort. She must find enough water to wash her face, a comb for her hair, and straighten her uniform so it wasn’t so obvious she had slept in it. Then a hot cup of tea would help her to feel considerably more human. Actually, anything except Pernod would do.
Half an hour later she was standing in the square when General Cullingford came across the cobbles toward his car, beside which stood a bedraggled and deeply unhappy Corporal Stallabrass. He was only too obviously the worse for wear. His uniform