“And there is a German spy loose,” said Young.
That was news.
“He was wounded,” Young added. “Got himself taken into hospital. Quite clever actually, the blackguard. When he got better, he slipped away. Certainly bent on mischief. A man with one arm. Speaks English, it seems. There is some fear that he will reach his countrymen with intelligence regarding our strength and positions, before they launch their assault. We are all to keep a close watch for this man.”
“What is his name?” said Mary. “What does he look like?”
“Well,” said Young, “a fair-haired man, apparently, but so many of them are. They are saying he’s called Winter.”
· · ·
Mary didn’t think much of Young’s news regarding the German spy, and Laura tended to agree. What could a single spy do, running ragged around the forbidden zone, certain to be captured? A useful spy would be quietly filing paper in Washington, in Whitehall. The whole story smelled like Young’s excuse to come and see Pim.
“Well,” said Mary judiciously, once she had seen Pim off on a walk round the orchard on the arm of the worshipful Young, “if Pim wants to cultivate that young man and help me keep in good odor with HQ by doing so—Young is Gage’s nephew, you know—then she’s welcome.”
Laura was on fire to know why Pim had written to Young at all. But she had to wait until she could get Pim alone. In the meantime, the hospital, like every place Laura had ever worked, loved a good romance, and rumors were running riot. One of the nurses had crept down quite openly to the orchard to eavesdrop: “I heard him promise to teach her to ride and even shoot a pistol. He told her she’d be the fairest cuirassier in Europe!”
“Who’d want him? Have you ever seen such ears?”
“But rich, they say.”
Laura forgot temporarily that she was a new volunteer, and rounded on the gossips. One look at her hard eye, and they fled. But the whole hospital kept talking.
“Didyou write to Young, Pim?” asked Laura at last. It was evening, and she was sitting on her cot, unlacing her boots. She’d come upstairs and found Pim brushing her hair with exaggerated care. Laura didn’t blame her. Soldiers came to the hospital crawling with lice.
“Well, I like him. He’s very nice, actually.”
“Pim.”
“He’s going to help me,” said Pim. She flushed. “He’s— Well, he invited me to dinner. Mary won’t stop me going; she wants to be in well with the staff officers. And—I think Young would take me to Faland’s hotel. In a car. After dinner. If I asked him.”
Pim didn’t look at Laura but kept on brushing determinedly.
The thing was, Pim was absolutely right. Anywhere she wanted to go, all she needed was the help of an aristocratic staff officer, nephew of the man in charge of the sector, wholly besotted. But Laura didn’t know which was a worse idea: Pim hunting determinedly for Faland, or Pim putting herself in debt to Young.
Laura said, “Are you going to end up married to the poor boy for his pains?”
Pim looked indignant—probably at the insinuation that she could not manage a hapless creature like Young, although she was far too kind to say it aloud.
Laura said, “Pim, it’s not a good idea.”
“It will be all right,” said Pim, going back to brush her hair. “Young’s harmless. Means well.”
“And Faland?” said Laura. She’d been rolling up her stockings; she stopped and watched her friend narrowly.
Pim said nothing. She laid aside her brush, began plaiting her long hair for the night.
Laura said, “Pim—doing this won’t…” She hesitated.
Pim turned to face her. “Won’t—?”
“Won’t bring Jimmy back. Faland isn’t going to conjure your son’s ghost for you.”
Pim stiffened, determined dignity in every line of her face. “If the Parkeys could contact Jimmy, then why not Faland?”
“The Parkeys are a trio of old frauds! They are good, they are kind, but there isn’t a veil, there aren’t…Pim, don’t throw yourself on Young’s mercy, all to chase a ghost. Don’t let Faland do this to you, whoever he is.”
Pim didn’t fire back. Pim was Victorian to her bootheels, Laura thought, and had no notion of how to get into or out of a proper row. “I—I know your advice is well meant, Laura, but I—” Pim’s voice frayed. “I need to see the mirror. I need to ask Faland something.”
