Silence for the Dead(54)

“I’d bloody love the racing news!” came a voice from the corner.

“Me, too,” said another.

“Don’t worry, old man.” This was Creeton, sitting in one of the chairs, one leg crossed over the other knee and grinning a grin that didn’t reach his angry eyes. “If there’s anything about you in there, we’ll cut it out and save it in a little scrapbook.”

“Shut it, Creeton,” said MacInnes. “The man’s right as far as I’m concerned. I’d like to hear about the latest plays myself.”

Jack folded the ancient newspaper and tossed it easily on a nearby table. “A newspaper would be good,” he said, ignoring Creeton, “but a gramophone would be better.”

There was a murmur of excited agreement at that. Even Tom perked up. “We could play symphonies!” he exclaimed.

In the doorway behind my shoulder, Paulus straightened, as slow as a cat. Matron’s posture had gone poker stiff. “You will not,” she said loudly, “be getting a gramophone.”

“I want a gramophone!” someone said.

“So do I,” said Jack. He pivoted, looked around the room, his gaze passing over me unseeing. My heart pounded in my chest. The energy he produced, just by standing there, was dangerous, so dangerous, like playing with a lit fuse. And it was only a few madmen in the middle of nowhere. But this was it, just the faint breath of it, just the edge of a shadow of Brave Jack. The men had all turned to him. And I knew Brave Jack was in there, just as I’d always suspected.

His gaze stopped on Captain Mabry. “What do you think, Captain?”

Mabry had folded his tall frame onto a sofa, half in shadow, light glinting softly from his glasses. He had not spoken, only looked on in silence. As we watched, his hand moved unconsciously over the letter that rested on his thigh.

He looked at Jack for a long moment, and something passed between the two men. Then Captain Mabry shook his head. “It’s against the rules.”

“Of course it’s against the rules!” Matron blustered. And somehow the moment deflated, punctured like a balloon. Jack shrugged; the men subsided, murmuring. Some of them shook their heads, went back to their books, still discontented. Mabry made no move. Neither did Creeton, in his corner; I could see him sitting stiffly, his face red, his eyes on Jack, swiftly calculating. He had not expected this, and he did not like it. He caught me looking at him, and I turned away.

Jack stepped closer to Matron, lowered his voice. “May I have leave to take a walk?”

She looked bewildered. “Walk?”

“Yes.”

“It’s evening. The time for outdoor exercise is earlier in the day.”

“I seem to have missed it,” he said casually. “I’d like some exercise. Just out to the garden and back. Do you think that would be possible?”

Matron was in a spin. A walk now was against the rules, but to get Jack out of the room, away from the others, would be worth something. “You would have to be supervised.”

“Of course, that’s fine with me.”

Matron looked around, and her gaze fell on me. Her eyes narrowed, but I shook my head and shrugged in an I’m innocent gesture. I watched her reluctantly conclude that I could only be an innocent bystander. “Very well. Nurse Weekes, please supervise Mr. Yates in the garden. Exercise is not to exceed fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, Matron.”

“You will be timed.”

“Yes, Matron.”

“You are not to go out of sight of the windows. Mr. Vries will be watching. And, Mr. Yates, this case is an exception. In future, if you wish to exercise, please take it at the appointed time of day.”

He thanked her and I followed him toward the French doors to the terrace. Everyone watched us go, and I realized that Matron had unwittingly just approved a display—a very public display—of yet more rules being broken. I watched Jack saunter out through the doors and wondered whether he knew exactly what he was doing. In the space of a few mere spoken sentences and fifteen minutes, he had turned everything on its head, even just for a moment. He was either oblivious, a genius, or utterly psychotic. And I did not think the first option applied.

“What was that?” I hissed at him as we moved away from the doors. “What are you doing?”

He walked across the terrace and leaned on the railing. Chairs were sometimes brought out here for the men on pleasant days, but the area was empty now. “Did you like it?” he said.

“Like it?” I said.

“I did it for you.”

There was no other word for it: I gaped at him.

He shrugged. “In a manner of speaking,” he said. He turned away from me and tapped his fingers lightly on the railing. “The thing is, Kitty, you’ve got me thinking.”

“Thinking?”

“Yes. I don’t much like it, but there it is. You’re brave, and you keep asking questions, and you don’t quit. And the next thing I know, I’m thinking.”

“About what?”

“Well.” He turned to descend the steps from the terrace, and I followed him. I did not walk beside him; I was only supposed to be supervising, not strolling and chatting. But I kept close behind his shoulder as he talked. “At first,” he said, “I thought about what Matron said about clearance to come to my room. That my presence at Portis House is a secret.”