We Shall Not Sleep_ A Novel - Anne Perry [82]
All this turned over in her mind as she searched for the opportunity to speak to Matthew when she could be certain they’d be alone and uninterrupted.
She found him asleep in the bunker, at a time when she knew Joseph had briefly gone forward toward the front line to help the stretcher-bearers. Despite the desperate need to prove Schenckendorff innocent, that was a duty he could not abandon. They were his men from the farms and villages around St. Giles. Some were critically wounded and might die. You could never tell; a man who appeared to have no more than a piece of shrapnel through the flesh might be so weak from exhaustion that the shock and loss of blood killed him, or the cold. Sometimes there were other wounds, masked by lesser injuries that had torn the skin and produced more obvious lacerated flesh.
She went down the steps into the dark. Knowing where the lamp was, she lit it with difficulty, then set it on the table Joseph used for writing letters of condolence, as well as love letters for those who found the words awkward or were clumsy with the pen, or too wounded to hold it at all.
Matthew was asleep, curled over uncomfortably on the narrow cot. He did not even stir. His fair hair was longer than a soldier’s should be, but then he was used to a different kind of battle. This was not his arena. He had to outthink, outwit, and out-imagine, not struggle through the mud with rifle and bayonet, food, water, and ammunition on his back.
She touched him gently, and when he did not respond, more firmly. He grunted, still deeply asleep. But there was no time to allow him to rest. This would not wait on comfort, not even on need. “Matthew!”
He opened his eyes and focused with difficulty. He searched her face for grief. When he didn’t see it, he breathed out slowly. He had been afraid she had come to say Joseph was hurt, or even killed. It was the fear all of them lived with, all the time. It was your first thought with every startled awakening.
“Sorry,” she apologized. “I have to speak to you while I know Joseph is away.”
“Why?” He sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the side. He was fully dressed, apart from his boots, as they all were. It was too cold for anything else. “What’s happened? Do you know something?”
There was no point in trying to soften it. She sat on the one chair. “Schenckendorff can’t be guilty,” she told him. “There was at least one rape before he even got here. Apparently it was sufficiently like Sarah’s that it pretty well had to be the same person. Less violent, of course, because she’s still alive, just bruised pretty badly. Maybe Sarah fought more, which I suppose is stupid. Or perhaps he’s just getting worse. The first was over a month ago.”
He blinked. “Are you sure? It wasn’t reported. Why is she speaking out now? It won’t be to clear Schenckendorff; it could be to protect somebody else who might have come recently.” His mouth pulled down at the corners. “Obviously not me. We’ve stirred up something of a hornet’s nest by starting asking questions again. I’ve pushed one or two people pretty hard. So has Joe.”
“It’s the truth,” she said softly. Even now, knowing the necessity, she hated having to tell him. If she could, she would have protected Lizzie against anyone at all knowing.
His eyes widened in sudden, chilling horror. “Judith?”
“No!” she said instantly. “Not me! For God’s sake, Matthew! Do you think I’d have let you be blamed if it were?” She sighed, swallowing hard. “It’s Lizzie Blaine.”
His shoulders hunched. He put his hand up to push his hair back