Angels in the Gloom wwi-3 Read online




  Angels in the Gloom

  ( World War I - 3 )

  Anne Perry

  The third entry in Perry's World War I series moves from the horror of the trenches to the English countryside, where chaplain Joseph Reavley, wounded at the front, has returned to recuperate under his sister's Hannah's care. Still fresh is his grief for their parents, both killed by the mysterious Peacemaker, who, in the guise of seeking an end to the conflict, is sabotaging Britain's war effort. The murder of a scientist whose work might have ensured Allied success leads Joseph (and his brother, Matthew, who works for British intelligence) on a twisted trail that they hope will lead to the Peacemaker. As in previous books in this series and in her Victorian detective series, Perry creates a meticulously detailed backdrop, whether home front or frontlines, while leaving plenty of room for her characters to contemplate issues of honor, loyalty, and love: Will Joseph return to the front or minister to the bereft at home? Will Matthew's growing affection for Irish double agent Detta Hannassey interfere with his mission? The characters, familiar now after two books, grow stronger and richer here, as Perry illuminates the emotional and physical character of war and asks the inevitable question, At what cost peace?

  To my father,

  Henry Hulme,

  scientific advisor to the admiralty,

  World War II

  . . . beyond that whisper

  Going to look for angels in the gloom.—Siegfried Sassoon

  CHAPTER

  ONE

  Joseph lay on his face in the ice-filmed mud. Earlier in the night a score of men had gone over the top in a raid on the German trenches. They had taken a couple of prisoners, but been hit by a hail of fire on the way back. They had scrambled over the parapet wounded, bleeding, and without Doughy Ward and Tucky Nunn.

  “Oi think Doughy’s bought it,” Barshey Gee had said miserably, his face hollow-eyed in the brief glare of a star shell. “But Tucky was still aloive.”

  There was no choice. Under a barrage from their own guns, three of them went to look for him. The noise of the heavy mortars was deafening, but when it eased, Joseph could hear the quick, sharper rattle of machine guns. As the flare died, he lifted his head to look again across the craters, the torn wire, and the few shattered tree stumps still left.

  Something moved in the mud. Joseph crawled forward again as quickly as he could. The thin ice cracked under his weight but he could hear nothing over the guns. He must get to Tucky without sliding into any of the huge, water-filled holes. Men had drowned in them before now. He shuddered at the thought. At least they had not been gassed this week, so there were no deadly, choking fumes in the hollows.

  Another flare went up and he lay still, then as it faded he moved forward as rapidly as he could, feeling his way to avoid the remnants of spent shells, the tangles of old wire and rusted weapons, the rotting bodies. As always, he had emergency first aid supplies with him, but he might need more than that. If he could carry Tucky back to the trench, there would be real medics there by now.

  It was dark again. He stood up and, crouching low, ran forward. It was only a few yards to where he had seen the movement. He slithered and almost fell over him.

  “Tucky!”

  “Hello, Chaplain,” Tucky’s voice came out of the darkness, hoarse, ending in a cough.

  “It’s all right, I’ve got you.” Joseph reached forward, grasped the rough khaki, and felt the weight of Tucky’s body. “Where are you hurt?”

  “What are you doing out here?” There was a kind of desperate humor in Tucky’s voice as he tried to mask his pain. Another flare went up, briefly illuminating his snub-nosed face and the bloody wound in his shoulder.

  “Just passing,” Joseph replied, his own voice shaking a little. “Where else are you hit?” He dreaded the answer. If it were only the shoulder, Tucky would have made his way back.

  “Moi leg, Oi think,” came the reply. “Tell you the truth, Oi can’t feel much. So damn cold. Don’t seem they have summers here. ’Member summers at home, Chaplain? Girls all . . .” The rest of what he said was drowned in another roar of gunfire.

  Joseph’s heart sank. He had seen too many die, young men he had known most of their lives, including Tucky’s elder brother Bibby.

  “I’ll get you back,” he said to Tucky. “Once you’re warmer you’ll probably feel it like hell. Come on.” He bent and half lifted Tucky onto his back. Hearing a cry of pain as he inadvertently touched the wound, he apologized.

  “It’s all roight, Chaplain,” Tucky gasped, gagging as the pain dizzied him. “It hurts, but not too much. Oi’ll be better soon.”

  Bent double, staggering under Tucky’s weight, and trying to keep low so as not to make a target, Joseph floundered back toward the line of the trenches. Twice he slipped and fell, apologizing automatically, aware that he was banging and jolting the injured man.

  He saw the parapet ahead of him, not more than a dozen yards away. He was sodden with mud and water up to the waist. His breath froze in the air and he was so cold he could hardly feel his legs.

  “Nearly there,” he told Tucky, although his words were lost in another barrage of shells. One exploded close to him, hurling him forward flat onto the ground. He felt a sickening pain in his left side, and then nothing.

  He opened his eyes with a headache so blinding it all but obliterated his awareness that the whole of his left side hurt. There seemed to be other people around him. He could hear voices. It took him several moments to recognize that he was staring up at the ceiling of the field hospital. He must have been hit. What had happened to Tucky?

  He tried to speak, but he was not sure if he actually made any sound or if the words were only in his head. No one came to him. He seemed to have no strength to move. The pain was appalling. It consumed his whole body, almost taking his breath away. What had happened to him? He had seen men injured, lots of them, their arms and legs blown off, bodies ripped open. He had held them, talked to them as they died, trying simply to be there so they were not alone. Sometimes that was all he could do.

  He could not take up arms—he was a chaplain—but the night before the war had been declared, he had promised himself he would be there with the men, endure with them whatever happened.

  Matthew and Judith, his brother and younger sister, had sat at home with him in St. Giles, watching the darkness gather over the fields, and spoken quietly of the future. Matthew would stay in the Secret Intelligence Service, Judith would go to the front to do what she could, probably to drive ambulances, Joseph would be a chaplain. But he had sworn that never again would he allow himself to care about anything so much that he could be crippled by loss, as he had been by Eleanor’s death, and the baby’s. Naturally his married sister, Hannah, would stay at home. Her husband, Archie, was at sea, and she had three children to care for.

  There was someone leaning over him, a man with fair hair and a tired, serious face. He had blood on his hands and clothes. “Captain Reavley?”

  Joseph tried to answer but all he could manage was a croak.

  “My name’s Cavan,” the man went on. “I’m the surgeon here. You’ve got a badly broken left arm. You caught a pretty big piece of shrapnel by the look of it, and you’ve lost rather a lot of blood from the wound in your leg, but you should be all right. You’ll keep the arm, but I’m afraid it is definitely a Blighty one.”

  Joseph knew what that meant: an injury bad enough to be sent home.

  “Tucky?” The words came at last, in a whisper. “Tucky Nunn?”

  “Bad, but I expect he’ll make it,” Cavan answered. “Probably going home with you. Now we’ve got to do something about this arm. It’s going to hurt, but I’ll do my best, and we’ll repack that wound in you
r leg.”

  Joseph knew dimly that the doctor had no time to say more. There were too many other men waiting, perhaps injured more seriously than he.

  Cavan was right; the surgery was painful. Afterward, all Joseph did was swim in and out of consciousness. Everything seemed either the scarlet of pain or the infinitely better black of oblivion.

  He was half aware of being lifted and carried, of voices around him, and then a few very clear moments when he saw Judith. She was bending over him, her face pale and grave, and he realized with surprise how frightened she was. He must look pretty bad. He tried to smile. He had no idea from the tears in her eyes if he succeeded or not. Then he drifted away again.

  He woke up every so often. Sometimes he lay staring at the ceiling, wanting to scream from the pain that coursed through him till he thought he could not bear it, but one did not do that. Other men, with worse injuries, did not. There were nurses around him, footsteps, voices, hands holding him up, making him drink something that made him gag. People spoke to him gently; there was a woman’s voice, encouraging, but too busy for pity.

  He felt helpless, but it was a relief not to be responsible for anyone’s pain except his own.

  He was hot and shivering, the sweat trickling down his body, when they finally put him on the train. The rattle and jolt of it was dreadful, and he wanted to shout at the people who said how lucky he was to have “a Blighty one” that he would rather they left him alone where he was. It must still be March and the weather was erratic. Would the winds make the Channel crossing rough? He was too ill to cope with seasickness as well! He could not even turn over.

  In the event he remembered very little of it, or of the train journey afterward. When he finally woke up to some kind of clarity, he was lying in a clean bed in a hospital ward. The sun shone through the windows, making bright, warm splashes on the wooden floor, and there were bedclothes around him. Clean sheets? He could feel the smoothness against his chin and smell the cotton. He heard a broad Cambridgeshire voice in the distance and found himself smiling. He was in England, and it was spring.

  He kept his eyes open, afraid that if he closed them it would all disappear and he would be back in the mud again. A slight woman, perhaps in her fifties, bent over him and helped him up to drink a cup of tea. It was hot, and made with clean water, not the stale dregs he was used to. The woman was dressed in a starched white uniform. She told him her name was Gwen Neave. He looked at her hands around the cup as she held it to his lips. They were strong and sunburned.

  During the next two or three days and nights she seemed to be there every time he needed her, always understanding what would ease him a little: the bed remade, pillows turned and plumped up, fresh water to drink, a cold cloth on his brow. She changed the dressings on the huge, raw wounds in his arm and leg without any expression on her face except a tightening of her lips when she knew it must be hurting him. She talked about the weather, the lengthening days, the first daffodils flowering bright yellow. She told him once, very briefly, that she had two sons in the navy, but nothing more, no mention of where they were or how she feared for them amid all the losses at sea. He admired her for that.

  It was she who was there at the worst times in the small hours of the morning when he was racked with pain, biting his lips so he did not cry out. He thought of other men’s pain, younger than he, who had barely tasted life and were already robbed of it. He had no strength left to fight; he only wanted to escape to a place where the pain stopped.

  “It will get better,” she promised him, her voice little more than a whisper so as not to disturb the men in the other beds.

  He did not answer. The words meant nothing. Pain, helplessness, and the knowledge of death were the only realities.

  “Do you want to give up?” she asked. He saw the smile in her eyes. “We all do, sometimes,” she went on. “Not many actually do, and you can’t. You’re the chaplain. You chose to pick up the cross, and now and again to help other people carry theirs. If somebody told you it wouldn’t be heavy, they were lying.”

  Nobody had told him, he knew that. Others had survived worse than this. Just hang on.

  It was a long, slow night. Other fears crowded his mind—of helplessness, endless nights when he was awake while the rest of the world slept. He would be dependent, with somebody else always having to look after him, too kind to say he was a burden, but growing to hate him for it. He did not drift into sleep until dawn. The next night was almost as bad.

  “What day is it?” he asked, when finally it was light again.

  “Twelfth of March,” the young nurse replied. “Nineteen sixteen,” she added with a smile. “Just in case you’ve forgotten. You’ve been here five days already.”

  It was the morning after that when the same nurse told him cheerfully that he had a visitor. She whisked away the remnants of his breakfast and tidied him up quite unnecessarily, and a moment later he saw Matthew walking down the ward between the other beds. He looked tired and pale. His thick, fair hair was not quite short enough for the army, and he was wearing a Harris tweed jacket over an ordinary cotton shirt. He stopped by the bed. “You look awful,” he said with a smile. “But better than last time.”

  Joseph blinked. “Last time? Last time I was home I was fine.”

  “Last time I was here you weren’t even conscious,” Matthew replied ruefully. “I was very disappointed. I couldn’t even shout at you for being a fool. It’s the sort of thing Mother would have done.” His voice caught a little. “Tell you she’s so proud of you she’d burst, and then send you to bed with no dinner for frightening the life out of her.”

  He was right. Were Alys Reavley still alive that is just what she would have done, then later send Mrs. Appleton upstairs with pudding on a tray, as if she were sneaking it up and Alys did not know. In one sentence Matthew had summed up everything that home meant, and the impossible loss of their parents, murdered at the end of June two years ago, the same day the Archduke and Duchess were assassinated in Sarajevo. The loss washed over Joseph again in stinging grief, and for a moment his throat ached too fiercely to reply.

  Matthew blinked. “Actually for this she’d have had you down again, for hot pie and cream,” he said a little huskily. He fished in his jacket pocket and brought out something in his hand. It was a small case, of the sort in which good watches are presented. He opened it and held it up. It contained a silver cross on a purple and white ribbon.

  “Military Cross,” he said, as if Joseph might not recognize it. “Kitchener would have given it to you himself—it’s good for morale, especially in hospitals. But he’s pretty occupied at the moment, so he let me bring it.”

  It was the highest award given to officers for consistent acts of courage over a period of time.

  “I’ve got the citation,” Matthew went on; he was smiling now, his eyes bright with pride. He took an envelope out, opened it up, and laid it on the table beside Joseph, then put the cross on top of it, still in its case. “For all the men you rescued and carried back from no-man’s-land.” He gave a tiny shrug. “It mentions Eldon Prentice,” he added quietly. “Actually there’s a posthumous M.C. for Sam Wetherall, too.” His voice dropped even lower. “I’m sorry, Joe.”

  Joseph wanted to answer, but the words would not come. He remembered the death of war correspondent Eldon Prentice as if it had been a month ago, not a year. He could still taste the anger, everyone else’s, not just his own. The night Charlie Gee was wounded, Joseph could have killed Prentice himself. And he had never stopped missing Sam. He had never told Matthew the truth about that. “Thank you,” he said simply. There was no need for elaboration.

  Matthew understood this as well. “I heard Tucky Nunn’s not doing too badly. He’ll be home for a while, but he’ll get better. In the end his wounds weren’t as severe as yours.”

  Joseph nodded. “Doughy Ward got it,” he said quietly. “I’ll have to go and see his family, when I can. They’ll just have the five girls now. It will be a h
ardship for the old man. There’ll be no one to take over the bakery.”

  “Maybe Mary will,” Matthew suggested. “She was always the equal of her father at the baking, and more imaginative. Susie could keep the books.” He sighed. “I know that’s not what matters. How’s everyone else? The people I know?”

  Joseph smiled ruefully. “Much the same, or trying to be. Whoopy Teversham is still a clown, got a face like India rubber.”

  Matthew rolled his eyes. “Last time I was here the Nunns and the Tevershams were still not speaking to each other.”

  “Cully Teversham and Snowy Nunn are like brothers in the trenches,” Joseph said with a sudden ache in his throat, remembering them sitting together all night in the bitter cold, telling stories to keep up their courage, the tales getting wilder with each one. Two men half a mile away had frozen to death that night. They found their bodies when they brought the rations up the supply trenches the next morning.

  Matthew said nothing.

  “Thanks for the phonograph records.” Joseph changed the subject abruptly. “Especially the Caruso one. Was it really popular?”

  “Of course it was,” Matthew said indignantly. “That, and Al Jolson singing ‘Where did Robinson Crusoe Go with Friday on Saturday Night?’ ”

  They both laughed, and Joseph told him about other men from the village, but he spoke only of the pranks, the rivalries, the concert parties, and letters from home. He said nothing about the terrible injuries—Plugger Arnold dying of gangrene, or handsome Arthur Butterfield with his wavy hair, drowned in a bomb crater in no-man’s-land. He did not talk about the gas either, or how many men had been caught on the wire and hung there all night, riddled with shot, and no one could get to them.

  Joseph spoke of friendship, the kind of trust where everything is shared. He saw, as he had many times before, the guilt in Matthew’s face, that he, a healthy young man, should be doing a job here at home when almost every other man he knew was either at the front or at sea. Few people realized how important his job was. Without good intelligence, quickly gathered and correctly interpreted, tens of thousands more lives would be lost. There was no glory at the end; in fact, seldom was there any recognition at all.

 

    The face of a stranger Read onlineThe face of a strangerTriple Jeopardy Read onlineTriple JeopardyA Question of Betrayal Read onlineA Question of BetrayalA Christmas Gathering Read onlineA Christmas GatheringDeath in Focus Read onlineDeath in FocusA Christmas Resolution Read onlineA Christmas ResolutionA Christmas Journey Read onlineA Christmas JourneyA Christmas Garland: A Novel Read onlineA Christmas Garland: A NovelAnne Perry's Christmas Vigil Read onlineAnne Perry's Christmas VigilA Sunless Sea wm-18 Read onlineA Sunless Sea wm-18The Whitechapel Conspiracy Read onlineThe Whitechapel ConspiracyLong Spoon Lane: A Charlotte and Thomas Pitt Novel Read onlineLong Spoon Lane: A Charlotte and Thomas Pitt NovelA Christmas Hope Read onlineA Christmas HopeThe Hyde Park Headsman Read onlineThe Hyde Park HeadsmanAnne Perry's Silent Nights Read onlineAnne Perry's Silent NightsA Christmas Message Read onlineA Christmas MessageA Christmas Hope: A Novel Read onlineA Christmas Hope: A NovelHyde Park Headsman Read onlineHyde Park HeadsmanNo Graves As Yet wwi-1 Read onlineNo Graves As Yet wwi-1The Sins of the Wolf Read onlineThe Sins of the WolfBlood on the Water Read onlineBlood on the WaterHighgate Rise Read onlineHighgate RiseA Christmas Revelation Read onlineA Christmas RevelationCater Street Hangman tp-1 Read onlineCater Street Hangman tp-1Cain His Brother Read onlineCain His BrotherA Breach of Promise Read onlineA Breach of PromiseRevenge in a Cold River Read onlineRevenge in a Cold RiverMidnight at Marble Arch tp-28 Read onlineMidnight at Marble Arch tp-28Shoulder the Sky wwi-2 Read onlineShoulder the Sky wwi-2The Shifting Tide Read onlineThe Shifting TideSilence in Hanover Close tp-9 Read onlineSilence in Hanover Close tp-9Long Spoon Lane Read onlineLong Spoon LaneThe Silent Cry Read onlineThe Silent CryWeighed in the Balance Read onlineWeighed in the BalanceSilence in Hanover Close Read onlineSilence in Hanover CloseDark Assassin Read onlineDark AssassinAshworth Hall Read onlineAshworth HallA Sudden, Fearful Death Read onlineA Sudden, Fearful DeathTwenty-One Days Read onlineTwenty-One DaysBethlehem Road Read onlineBethlehem RoadBuckingham Palace Gardens Read onlineBuckingham Palace GardensA Christmas Promise Read onlineA Christmas PromiseExecution Dock Read onlineExecution DockThe William Monk Mysteries Read onlineThe William Monk MysteriesAt Some Disputed Barricade wwi-4 Read onlineAt Some Disputed Barricade wwi-4Angels in the Gloom wwi-3 Read onlineAngels in the Gloom wwi-3Cardington Crescent tp-8 Read onlineCardington Crescent tp-8Dark Tide Rising Read onlineDark Tide RisingCallander Square Read onlineCallander SquareA Christmas Beginning c-5 Read onlineA Christmas Beginning c-5One Thing More Read onlineOne Thing MoreAn Anne Perry Christmas: Two Holiday Novels Read onlineAn Anne Perry Christmas: Two Holiday NovelsA Christmas Journey c-1 Read onlineA Christmas Journey c-1Treason at Lisson Grove: A Charlotte and Thomas Pitt Novel Read onlineTreason at Lisson Grove: A Charlotte and Thomas Pitt NovelResurrection Row Read onlineResurrection RowA Christmas Beginning Read onlineA Christmas BeginningTreason at Lisson Grove Read onlineTreason at Lisson GroveMurder on the Serpentine Read onlineMurder on the SerpentineResurrection Row tp-4 Read onlineResurrection Row tp-4We Shall Not Sleep Read onlineWe Shall Not SleepBedford Square tp-19 Read onlineBedford Square tp-19The Angel Court Affair Read onlineThe Angel Court AffairBlind Justice wm-19 Read onlineBlind Justice wm-19Farriers' Lane Read onlineFarriers' LaneA Christmas Return Read onlineA Christmas ReturnA Christmas Guest Read onlineA Christmas GuestWhitechapel Conspiracy Read onlineWhitechapel ConspiracyThe Twisted Root Read onlineThe Twisted RootA Dangerous Mourning Read onlineA Dangerous MourningBelgrave Square Read onlineBelgrave SquareFuneral in Blue wm-12 Read onlineFuneral in Blue wm-12Slaves of Obsession wm-11 Read onlineSlaves of Obsession wm-11Tathea Read onlineTatheaShoulder the Sky Read onlineShoulder the SkyA Christmas Secret cn-4 Read onlineA Christmas Secret cn-4The Shifting Tide wm-14 Read onlineThe Shifting Tide wm-14Death On Blackheath (Thomas Pitt 29) Read onlineDeath On Blackheath (Thomas Pitt 29)Defend and Betray Read onlineDefend and BetrayMidnight at Marble Arch Read onlineMidnight at Marble ArchRutland Place tp-5 Read onlineRutland Place tp-5Dorchester Terrace Read onlineDorchester TerraceBlind Justice Read onlineBlind JusticeA Christmas Visitor Read onlineA Christmas VisitorAngels in the Gloom Read onlineAngels in the GloomThe Scroll b-1 Read onlineThe Scroll b-1Dorchester Terrace tp-27 Read onlineDorchester Terrace tp-27Paragon Walk tp-3 Read onlineParagon Walk tp-3A Christmas Secret Read onlineA Christmas SecretA Christmas Garland Read onlineA Christmas GarlandA Christmas Grace Read onlineA Christmas GraceDeath in the Devil's Acre Read onlineDeath in the Devil's AcreBetrayal at Lisson Grove Read onlineBetrayal at Lisson GroveCome Armageddon Read onlineCome ArmageddonTraitors Gate tp-15 Read onlineTraitors Gate tp-15Cater Street Hangman Read onlineCater Street HangmanAcceptable Loss wm-17 Read onlineAcceptable Loss wm-17A Christmas Homecoming Read onlineA Christmas HomecomingDeath in the Devil's Acre tp-7 Read onlineDeath in the Devil's Acre tp-7A Christmas Grace c-6 Read onlineA Christmas Grace c-6Scroll Read onlineScrollCardington Crescent Read onlineCardington CrescentSlaves of Obsession Read onlineSlaves of ObsessionAnne Perry's Silent Nights: Two Victorian Christmas Mysteries Read onlineAnne Perry's Silent Nights: Two Victorian Christmas MysteriesThe One Thing More Read onlineThe One Thing MoreNo Graves As Yet Read onlineNo Graves As YetPentecost Alley Read onlinePentecost AlleyThe Sheen on the Silk Read onlineThe Sheen on the SilkSeven Dials Read onlineSeven DialsBrunswick Gardens Read onlineBrunswick GardensParagon Walk Read onlineParagon WalkBedford Square Read onlineBedford SquarePentecost Alley tp-16 Read onlinePentecost Alley tp-16A Christmas Odyssey cn-8 Read onlineA Christmas Odyssey cn-8Highgate Rise tp-11 Read onlineHighgate Rise tp-11Anne Perry's Christmas Mysteries Read onlineAnne Perry's Christmas MysteriesA Christmas Odyssey Read onlineA Christmas OdysseyAcceptable Loss: A William Monk Novel Read onlineAcceptable Loss: A William Monk NovelDeath On Blackheath tp-29 Read onlineDeath On Blackheath tp-29Betrayal at Lisson Grove tp-26 Read onlineBetrayal at Lisson Grove tp-26Half Moon Street Read onlineHalf Moon StreetA New York Christmas (Christmas Novellas 12) Read onlineA New York Christmas (Christmas Novellas 12)The Twisted Root wm-10 Read onlineThe Twisted Root wm-10Half Moon Street tp-20 Read onlineHalf Moon Street tp-20Traitors Gate Read onlineTraitors GateCallander Square tp-2 Read onlineCallander Square tp-2The Sheen of the Silk Read onlineThe Sheen of the SilkSouthampton Row Read onlineSouthampton RowA Christmas Guest c-3 Read onlineA Christmas Guest c-3Death on Blackheath Read onlineDeath on BlackheathBlind Justice: A William Monk Novel Read onlineBlind Justice: A William Monk NovelThe Scroll Read onlineThe ScrollA Sunless Sea Read onlineA Sunless SeaBuckingham Palace Gardens tp-25 Read onlineBuckingham Palace Gardens tp-25Funeral in Blue Read onlineFuneral in BlueAcceptable Loss Read onlineAcceptable LossAnne Perry's Christmas Mysteries: Two Holiday Novels Read onlineAnne Perry's Christmas Mysteries: Two Holiday Novels