But she was so afraid, because she knew Tom Hughes had shot him with murder in his mind.
Lewis was in a fierce conversation with several officers, all of whom turned and strode swiftly off as Virginia paused before him. He was not much older than she was, with bright blond hair and blue eyes, his cheeks sunburned, and his expression turned weary as he faced her. “Let me guess,” he said heavily. “You are missing a husband, brother or father. Here’s the list. It is incomplete.”
Virginia accepted a sheaf of papers he lifted from the table he was apparently using as a field desk. “My husband is a British officer, sir. Perhaps you would know if he were captured or killed.” She remained amazed at her calm tone. She felt as if she floated outside of her body, completely detached, watching a magnificent performance.
For she dared not feel.
If she felt, she would come apart, she would become crazed, and she would never be able to locate Devlin.
The stakes were so high.
His brows lifted and his eyes showed some interest now.
“His name is Captain Devlin O’Neill.” She held her head with pride.
His jaw tightened. “O’Neill? The captain of theDefiance?The one who did this?” He gestured toward the hospital just beyond them, a sea of tents, with the wounded lying on pallets and blankets, bloody, bandaged, moaning and crying for help. A few doctors and staff were trying to attend to the hundreds needing attention.
“My husband would never condone such an attack.”
“No?” His jaw was hard, his skepticism obvious. “I have not seen his name on either list.”
She glanced down. One page was for the dead, another for the wounded. “You said these lists are incomplete?”
“They are.”
“And what about prisoners of war?”
He made a mocking sound. “There are only two dozen.”
She swallowed. “I’d like to tour the dead, the wounded and the prisoners, Captain.”
He shrugged. “If you find O’Neill in our control, I shall be a very happy man.” He turned. “Sergeant Ames! Escort Mrs. O’Neill to the morgue, then allow her to tour the hospital and the prisoners of war.”
A burly, grizzled man came running. “Yes, sir.” He saluted. “This way, ma’am.”
Virginia followed with Tillie still holding her arm, the sergeant shortening his stride to accommodate her slower steps. “The hospital’s right here,” he said, “morgue’s just outside of camp. ’Course, it ain’t really a morgue, but it’s what we call it.”
“I am looking for a British naval officer,” she said as they crossed over toward the field hospital.
“Mostly Americans here. Shouldn’t be too hard to find someone British—and in blue,” he said. He did not seem at all curious that her husband was British and Virginia was thankful for that small boon.
Fifteen minutes later, Virginia was exceedingly ill but certain Devlin was not among the wounded at Hampton. As if reading her thoughts, Tillie said, “He’s not here, Sergeant. Can we see the prisoners?”
He nodded and led them back into the center of the camp. “Morgue’s just over there,” he said, pointing.
Virginia saw where he indicated. Rows of bodies were neatly laid out, each covered with sheets. She stopped in her tracks. “I can’t do this,” she said, choking. Her self-control was about to disintegrate.
“I can go. I can identify the captain,” Frank said quickly.
“Bless you,” Virginia whispered.
He returned a half an hour later, looking green beneath his dark skin. “I looked at everyone,” he said roughly. “Only one bluecoat there, but I looked at ’em all. He ain’t among the dead, Miz Virginia.”
Virginia had been sitting on a chair the sergeant had kindly provided her with. She felt the tears begin. “Thank God,” she whispered. She fought for the composure that had thus far served her so well, trembling hard with the effort. He wasn’t among the wounded here and he wasn’t among the dead. There was hope and she clung to it. Even if she and Devlin never reconciled, she would never complain—not if he was alive.
“Come this way, ma’am,” the sergeant said rather kindly.
At the far end of the camp, a small stockade had been erected. Virginia was allowed to enter with Sergeant Ames, who spoke with the camp’s warden. She only half listened, her gaze scanning the two dozen assembled men. Half were in red coats, the other half in their shirts. Not a single blue coat was among them.
