We Shall Not Sleep_ A Novel - Anne Perry [68]
Nobody else wanted to disturb the conclusion. The fear was melting away, suspicions dying, and the end of the war resuming its place as the most important subject.
Judith was close to panic. Apart from Joseph, the only person to whom she could turn for help was Lizzie Blaine. She both liked and trusted her, and, at the moment even more importantly than that, knew that Lizzie had the intelligence to weigh and measure answers and reason through the tangle of facts toward some truth.
She shivered and pulled her cape closer around her.
Thank goodness at least casualties were low for an hour or two. Joseph had gone forward into no-man’s-land. He’d had no choice, and even if he had been able to stay here, they had run out of ideas about who else to question or even what to ask.
It was midmorning, and for once cold and dry. She was so tired her whole body ached, but there was no time to sleep. Two or three hours’ worth would have to do.
She stood up slowly. She was stiff; her muscles ached. She had slept clenched up with fear and cold. Climbing up the steps and emerging into what was left of the old trench, the wind struck her. Lizzie was in another bunker about twenty yards along. It was better than sleeping in the open, and there was no room in the tents.
Judith hated waking her, but she could not afford to waste any more time, and there was no one else to turn to. At the second bunker she went down the steps; they were wet and slippery, surfaced with a thin layer of clay from disuse. She pulled the remnants of the sacking curtain open. There was silence inside, and not even a candle burning. It was a respite she knew Lizzie needed, but desperation won. She went in, allowing the daylight to fall through the narrow opening.
Lizzie was curled over on the bunk, her dark hair spread out on the hard pillow and the blanket drawn up around her. She looked as if she had gone to sleep cold, and Judith felt a deeper, sharper stab of guilt.
“Lizzie,” she said quietly. When the woman did not stir, she touched her on the shoulder, gradually tightening her grip until Lizzie sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes and answering in a level voice.
“Sorry,” Judith said, and she meant it. “I can’t afford to wait. Jacobson’s looking for final evidence to send Matthew to trial. He doesn’t seem to have any doubt. Apparently Matthew said he saw someone who looked like Punch Fuller fighting with somebody, but it was a couple of miles from where Punch says he was. I have to get to the bottom of it, and I need help. There’s no one else I can trust, or who is willing to think Matthew could be innocent. Everyone else just wants it to be over.”
Lizzie rubbed her eyes and drew the blanket around her shoulders. She was so tired that waking up fully took several moments. “Was Punch Fuller injured?” she asked. “I don’t remember that. Badly?”
“No, he brought in a young soldier, about fifteen or sixteen, who was injured. Carried him.” Judith spoke the next words with difficulty. “But he wouldn’t pass anywhere near where Matthew was. That’s at least a couple of miles from the way he’d come from the line to the clearing station.” It sounded even worse aloud.
Lizzie was properly awake now. “Then there must be some other explanation,” she said. “Assuming Matthew wouldn’t lie, then perhaps he was mistaken—and since he doesn’t know the men here, that has to be possible. Alternatively, maybe for some reason or other Punch Fuller is lying.”
“Why would he?” Judith said miserably. “He brought in a wounded man, or boy in this case. What is there to lie about?”
“I don’t know.” Lizzie moved the blanket