We Shall Not Sleep_ A Novel - Anne Perry [120]
“In Britain I daresay it would be even worse. It might descend to civil war before there was any kind of order. The death toll would be appalling. It would make our troubles in Ireland look small. Canada might accept British rule, but America never would. Whatever armies anyone sent, they’d fight to the end.”
He shook his head. “And the rise of socialism internationally was going to create revolution if we hadn’t each had to unite our own country against an enemy outside. The revolution in Russia was probably inevitable. Austria-Hungary was falling apart. Hungary would have demanded its independence sooner or later. If Princip hadn’t shot the archduke and duchess, something else would have sparked it off.”
“Do you suppose he sees it that way?” she said doubtfully. “He believed he could succeed, in the beginning.”
“Of course. We’re wiser now, and I daresay sadder.” He swiveled sideways to look at her. “Are you afraid Schenckendorff will change his mind when he gets to London?”
“Haven’t you thought of it?” she responded.
He hesitated.
She felt a surge of guilt. In her awareness of Schenckendorff’s feelings, and the threat he posed to them in Belgium, she had temporarily forgotten about Lizzie. She wondered how Joseph must be feeling watching her struggle to hide the nausea she suffered, especially in the mornings, and the emotions that both of them must be feeling. Confronting Allie Robinson had changed nothing about Lizzie’s rape or the reality of its effects. Of course they knew now that the rapist was not the person who had killed Sarah, but the relief of that can only have been short-lived. Everything else was just as it had been before.
“I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it intensely. “It’s only a small part of everything, isn’t it.” That was not a question; it was an admission of truth. She was trying not to think of personal things, above all not about love, or the time after this was over and they could start living in peace, picking up daily routines again, and choice—and loneliness. There would be very few men left for anyone to marry, and those there were would not find her such an attractive prospect any more than she would them. It had been hard enough before when she was in her early twenties. Now, four and a half years later, it was going to be impossible.
Apart from the scarcity of available men, she would compare them all with Mason. At first they would bore her to tears; then she would begin to hate them, because they were there and alive, and he was not. They would be so flat and tame next to him.
It was easier to concentrate on getting Schenckendorff back to London to expose the Peacemaker, than to worry about food and petrol and how to mend the ambulance if it broke down, and how to make sure the Belgians didn’t guess who they were.
They drove on through the darkness. She was growing very tired. She was used to long hours driving, more often at night than during the day, and always in difficult conditions. However, her eyes felt gritty, and her head ached as if she were wearing a helmet that was heavy and too tight. They would have to stop soon or she would risk losing control, which could be lethal.
Within half an hour they found a ruined farmhouse. It was too badly shelled to live in, but a sheltered place within the old dairy was dry and out of the wind, and the men could make themselves places to rest. They had a meal of Maconachie’s and some army ration biscuits washed down with tea. It was all prepared by Joseph, since he was the only one used to such chores. Mason had seen army cooking done, of course, as had Schenckendorff, but neither had actually boiled water in a Dixie can over a flame, all balanced