The lucidity was fading from Winter’s face. “To eat. Just like the war does. Only he savors. Does that make him better? The ghosts said his world ended too.”
“I’ll find him,” said Laura. It was a vow. She got to her feet and said as an afterthought, “Have you seen my friend? She has yellow hair.”
A small perturbed frown, but he shook his head. Laura turned and left the ward.
· · ·
Pim could not be found in the château at all. In the sterilization room, Laura found only two orderlies playing cards, and Jones,stirring cocoa powder into steaming tinned milk, his eyes red-rimmed. He looked pleased to see her. “Iven, you must come with me and see Trovato’s leg. I thought we might have to have it off after all, with the artery severed. But the small vessels are doing the work, no necrosis of the foot—”
Then he noticed the worry on her face. “What is it?”
“I can’t find Pim.”
“She’s a grown—” He seemed to realize that Laura was really worried. “Well, she’s not here.”
“She’s not in the château. I have to find her.” She left the sterilization room, words trailing away in Jones’s startled silence, pulled open the front door, breaking the hospital fug with the smell of early spring. She peered out into the predawn gray.
Jones followed her into the foyer. “Iven?”
Laura was scanning the grounds, the drive. Dead ahead, the rusted iron gate of the château, and beyond the road, marked with the lights of lorries, running east. To the left was the ruined orchard, and beyond lay the hospital cemetery, enlarged every week of the war. Was that a light, there, among the crosses?
Jones had seen it too. He was staring narrow-eyed into the night. “I thought Shaw looked peculiar, yesterday evening, when you came back from that dinner. I suppose it was too much to bear, dining in luxury after weeks of tending to men in pieces? And Mrs. Shawwouldcrack picturesquely, and go out wandering the moors in a nightdress or something.”
It cut too near the bone to be amusing, but Laura was glad of Jones’s presence as they went out together, through the slick grass at the edge of the drive. Laura could almost talk herself into an innocent explanation, convince herself that Pim was upstairs. The cemetery was on the far side of the overgrown apple orchard. They cut between the trees, whose shadows were just visible under a faintly graying sky.
The light reappeared in the cemetery. Laura thought she heard a voice. “Did he say I had him?” It wasn’t Jones’s voice.
Laura could not hear the answer, but the speaker laughed. “Oh,he told you, did he? Will I come if you do it? Yes, of course I shall. But don’t think that—”
The voices faded. The gleam of light had gone again. But Laura’s eyes found movement in the graveyard. Too tall to be Pim. Thinner than Jones. The light was so uncertain. Was it Faland? Was there really, in their wonder-stripped world, a monster she could placate, to get her brother back? Pim’s voice, shaking, said,“Please.”
Laura’s brain started working again. Why would Faland be here? How would Pim have known? What was she doing?
Then Jones’s light caught Pim running. There was no one else there.
“Mrs. Shaw,” Jones called peremptorily.
But Pim wasn’t looking at him. “No!” she called, running still. “Wait, I said I would, I—”
No one was there. Pim slowed to a walk, then stopped, panting. She stared blindly at the graves. Laura saw her shoulders shake. Then she turned toward them, collecting herself with the startling speed of a gently reared woman. Laura had seen her in profile, lips parted, a face full of some tormented emotion too complex to name, but Pim was smiling by the time she turned. “Laura, is that you?” she called. “And Dr. Jones, good heavens. Were you looking for me? Oh, lord, have I made a ninny of myself? Forgive me, please, both of you.” She brushed grass from her skirt. Jones hadn’t said anything; he looked suspicious. Laura wondered what he’d heard, what he’d thought, of that broken exchange in the shadows. Pim kept right on talking: “Was I sleepwalking? I suppose I must have been. You know, I had a maiden aunt prone to sleepwalking. Terrible thing. I think it’s the overstrain. Do you think it’s too early for a cup of tea?”
Oh, Pim,Laura thought. There were a dozen questions on the tip of her tongue, but a glance showed her Pim’s eyes wary behind that beautiful smile, and Laura didn’t think she’d get an answer. Not with Jones standing right there.
In the château, then. The instant she and Pim were alone.
But solitude wasn’t so easy to come by. Day was breaking and adozen voices greeted both Laura and Jones the instant they passed the front door: a clamor of emergencies. One man had bled through his dressing, a nurse had seen signs of gangrene in a man’s leg, they were getting more Frenchmen that day, anything to relieve the strain on the overstretched regular hospitals. The rhythm of it all swept Laura up, and Pim didn’t let herself be corralled; she was on her feet without a break, fetching, carrying, sketching, while men dictated letters.
Young came at noon, the gravitas of his bearing only a little marred by his ears. He was closeted first with Mary, then with Pim, leaving the staff all eager to know what was going on.
“He’s still looking for their escaped German prisoner,” said one of the nurses, the one shameless about eavesdropping. “The fellow was actuallyseenin Poperinghe, it seems. They are searching abandoned buildings nearby. And the queen of Belgium is coming to us! At least that rumor’s true. This very evening, on her way to supper, and General Gage is coming with her. And a newspaperman. Oh, Mary’s going to have us all in a fury of scrubbing.”
Winter had become feverish, sincethe dawn. Laura stopped at his bed when she could, to check his wound and sponge cold water on his face. Once she came into the ward and saw Pim and Winter with their heads together, whispering. Winter was shaking his head.
Laura came nearer, heard Pim sayWhat other way, but before she could hear more, the patient beside her tugged her sleeve. When she looked up, Pim had vanished and Winter looked troubled. Laura went across. “What did she say?”
Winter said, “She is determined, your friend.”
“To do what?”
